Katja
by PureTrafalgar
Summary: Katja is one of the most innocent girls in Brooklyn-until she isn't. Warning-later chapters get a bit dark.
1. Katja1--Meet Spot

Author's note:

This is my first story, and it's a long one. This is partly due to the fact that I felt the incredible need to write many of the scenes twice-once from Katja's perspective and once from Spot's. They each have their own scenes, of course, but there is also a lot of repetition. This was an exercise for me as much as anything. Feel free to give feedback on the formatting, though I doubt I will change it-again, the process is important to me, and I had to get it out of my system that way. Sometimes you have to jump way back when events start coming too quickly to separate the characters out. I am open to constructive criticism, particularly in the early chapters. I am not sure I have the characters working well right out of the gate.

The chapter name will tell you who is speaking, though I tried to write it so you wouldn't need that crutch.

I am okay if nobody ever reads this, by the way.

"Katja, Liebling," my father called out to me. I was sitting on the bench near a miniature park in in Brooklyn's business district. It was a favorite haunt of cabbies between fares thanks to the trough for watering horses nearby. My father smiled as he brought his cab to a halt, set the brake, and came over to give me a hug.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" He smiled as I handed him a meal. This was our ritual; every day I would bring him a meal in the early afternoon, check in with him, and take care of the horse while he took a break and ate his dinner. Papa was a stickler about the horse. City horses have a hard life, and they don't last long; they are also expensive to purchase. Since his delivery and cab service was our family's primary source of income, it was critical that we kept this horse healthy. Mama's work as a seamstress supplemented us enough that we could afford a small apartment—really just a pair of rooms with a small fire escape—and decent, if not exactly luxurious meals. It also meant I was able to attend school.

"Just eat your Wurst before it gets cold," I smiled as I turned to water and feed Maus. As I removed the bit from her mouth and attached the nosebag with the feed, I heard Papa sigh as he sat down on the bench. I looked around and saw him stretching and trying to settle into a comfortable position. He had stumbled on the stairs last week, and his back had ached a bit since then. He was healing well and was still able to work, but I knew this break was important to him.

"I can get you the newspaper, Papa," I offered. Papa always said that reading the paper was important, and he always bought one to read during this break. We would share it and discuss the articles inside, enjoying each other's company as well as the quality conversation. I grabbed a penny from him and headed over to the newsboy that was always there.

"One, please," I murmured, keeping my eyes cast down. Talking to people makes me nervous, especially when they are strangers. The boy, who looked to be about my age or a bit older, turned around and handed me a newspaper. As I handed him the penny he touched his black cane to his grey cap and wished me a nice day. I think he smiled, but I was too focused on my shoes to look at his face. I turned back toward Papa and Maus, skimming the headlines as I walked.

"Excuse me, miss?" a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned around and saw the newsboy just two feet away. I must have looked a bit startled because he immediately backed up a pace and held up his hand. "Sorry to bother ya, but you handed me a dime. Here's ya change." I blushed furiously as he held out a few coins to me.

"Thank you," I mumbled, taking the coins quickly and turning once again to Papa, who had witnessed the exchange.

"Young man," he called out to the newsboy, who was about to walk the other direction.

"Yes, sir?"

"Thank you for your honesty. I know most newsboys are in the habit of keeping the change, particularly if the mistake goes unnoticed," Papa said, his eyes bright with curiosity and approval.

"Sir, youse been a faithful customer for two years now. And I always take care of me own, especially the ones who deserves it," the newsboy answered with a grin.

"A true businessman. Well, I thank you Mr. . . . . "

"Conlon. But youse can call me Spot," he smiled as he touched his cap again.

"Alfred Fischer," Papa replied with a grin, "and my Katja. I wish you a good day of selling, Spot. Thank you again."

Spot smiled as he turned around and headed down the road selling the last of his papers.

"Really, Katja, you must not be so shy," Papa admonished as I sat down with the newspaper. "He was perfectly gentlemanly and deserved more than a mumble from you; remember, he is likely not as well off as we are, and those few cents may mean far more to him than they do even to us. You must always remember to treat everyone as your equal; no more, no less."

"Yes, Papa," I said, smiling back at him. He wasn't angry—just teaching me. That's how we were. We turned to the news and our meal, making the most of the time together.


	2. Spot1--Meet Katja

Ugh, another lousy headline. I'm good at my job, don't misunderstand; I just like it when the headlines are real enough that the papes sell themselves. Then I can sell a few extra and actually have some poker money. It looked like today was going to be another one of those dull days, though. I walked past the parked cab, noticing that the German bloke who's been a regular of mine for years seemed in pain. Back pain, it seemed. Shame—I like the fellow. He's been a consistent customer, always friendly, and he has always treated me with respect. He has a daughter who's my age, but she's really shy and has never spoken to me. She takes care of the horse, and they talk. It's cute, and to be honest, I've always been a bit jealous. I've never known a father and really haven't known a family at all other than the newsies; they just seem to be really close. He works hard; I can't remember the last time he had a day off, and that's saying something since I take very few days off myself. I could tell they don't have much money, but they always seemed happy.

I turned away to call out another headline, moving down the street to the shade of a nearby tree. People tend to congregate in the shade on warm days like today, so it seemed a good place to stand. I had just finished selling to another one of my regulars—a tall, thin man who works at the bank across the street—when the cabbie's daughter walked up to me.

"One, please," she said so quietly I could barely hear her. She stared at the sidewalk the whole time. Now, I can be intimidating when I need to be—it comes with living on the streets—but to my customers it's a different story. I'm always approachable with them; it's good for business. This girl must be really shy. I almost felt sorry for her; I can't imagine finding it that hard to talk to people. I touched my cane to my cap as she handed me the coin, but I don't think she saw me.

I hadn't even pocketed the coin when Mrs. Crowston, another regular, bought a paper. As I was trading her the penny for a paper I realized the girl had given me a dime. Now, I know most newsies, myself included, will pocket that coin. Even if it's one of my regulars, I generally pretend I don't notice. For some reason, though, I couldn't do it. That man has been a good customer, and to be honest, I might just make more money than he does. Mostly, though, I just felt sorry for a girl who tries so hard to please her father but can't even look a street rat in the eye. I could only imagine how ashamed she would be when she noticed the mistake and had to tell her pa that she'd lost some of his hard-earned money. I sighed in annoyance at myself and turned to follow the girl.

"Miss?" I called out, but she was evidently so lost in thought she didn't hear me. By now I had caught up with her. "Excuse me, miss?" She spun around and looked startled to find me so close. I backed up a pace.

"Sorry to bother ya, but you handed me a dime. Here's ya change," I said, handing her the coins.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and I saw her blushing in spite of the fact that she was staring down at the sidewalk again. I was right. This was mortifying for her. I felt another twinge of sympathy for her and was about to walk away when her father called out to me.

"Thank you for your honesty," he said, and his heavy German accent and precise adherence to grammar were striking. He had a pleasant, deep voice. "I know that most newsboys are in the habit of keeping the change, particularly if the mistake goes unnoticed." He must be an observant fellow if he knows that about us. He didn't strike me as dumb, either. I gave him some excuse about his being a regular, not wanting to tell him that I mostly felt sorry for his daughter.

"A true businessman. Well, I thank you Mr. . . ." he trailed off.

"Conlon," I supplied, touching my cap again. "But youse can call me Spot."

"Alfred Fischer," he said, though I already knew that. I pay attention, you know. "And my Katja." He wished me a good day, and I turned to finish selling my papes. It didn't take me long in spite of the headline, and I headed home content at having done my good deed for the day. I shouldn't let this become a habit.

I finished selling my papes and debated hooking up with Johnny and hitching a trolley down to Sheepshead for an afternoon of gambling and pickpocket practice—where we steal a wallet, count what's inside, and return it all without getting caught. It's mostly a game; if the bloke misses his cash, you claim to have just found it and return it all. You never keep it; it's a quick way to get newsboys banned from Sheepshead, and there's good selling down there. The idea had appeal—Sheepshead is always fun—but I dismissed it, deciding that I couldn't really spare the cash for gambling.

Besides, have I mentioned how busy I was? Scar, our leader, was thinking of moving on from newsie life. It happens to all of us—it's harder to sell newspapers when you get older, so as newsies get on in years they find new jobs. Scar was starting to consider his options and had been looking for a place to stay. I was one of the few that knew about it—along with Red and Johnny and Rut. We're some of the bigger and tougher guys, and each of us is capable of taking over for Scar. I know I have some good ideas. Red isn't really interested in running things, though, so I don't have a beef with him—well, not since he and I got into it and I proved myself to him. I think that's all he needed. It's Rut who's the problem. His idea of running things is to force younger newsies to buy his unsold papes like they do in the Bronx. I don't know that he'd do a good job running the lodging house, either. Right now Red and I were running things for Scar since ol' Mrs. Kirby is getting up there in years. Rut and I had been working on an agreement with the boot blacks over near the pier to boost profits for all of us. Their leader Hide had been difficult, though. Tonight seemed like a good night to put him in his place, especially since Rut would probably go with Johnny.

"Spot!" yelled a voice, and I recognized the kid that had showed up last week—Roller, we called him. He was one of the boys who had a home, rough though it was with just his ma and a baby and no money, and had just started selling. The poor kid was still just getting the hang of everything. He was tough, though, and loyal to a fault. I couldn't help but like him.

"Heya, kid, how's it rollin'?" I said, throwing a soft punch in his direction. He dodged it like I'd taught him yesterday, and I was pleased. I can't always be sure he'll win a fight, especially since he's only six, but I can at least help him duck!

"Hide kicked me out of there," he said, referring to a spot I had suggested for him to sell. I noticed he had a dozen or so papers still under his arm, and I grabbed them.

"Bully routine?" I asked. He grinned at me, took the papes, and took off. I gave chase, yelling about how I wanted him to come back so I could soak him for selling at my spot. He dodged me artfully, making it look good, then ducked into a corner. I made a big show of looking around for him, growling about the nickel he owed me and how I was going to soak him if he didn't pay up. He carefully stayed behind me, selling to sympathetic ladies as I pretended to hunt for him. We repeated this routine down another street, and within fifteen minutes he had sold his remaining papers. I didn't really have this kind of time, but what the heck—poor kid had been hassled.

"Let's go find Hide," I said, and we headed down to the ferry dock.

Hide was a big, dirty guy of about seventeen. Now, I'm barely fifteen, scrawny, and wiry, but I'm tough. I've been on my own for ten years, and if that doesn't teach a guy to fight, nothing does.

"Spot Conlon," Hide sneered as I neared his position.

"Hide, what are you doin' tellin' one of me boys to git lost? I thought we was tryin' to work on a deal for helping business for both our boys."

I strode right up to him, getting closer than he liked, and looked him dead in the eye. He met my gaze, as I'd expected from a tough leader like that.

"This kid was in the way of my strike zone. He moved in on the hoity-toity guys before I could. He's lucky I didn't soak him," Hide sneered at me.

"You're the lucky one, Hide. If you'd touched him, I'd be forced to soak ya." I didn't sneer at him. I smiled. It was a predatory smile, I knew. He didn't flinch; I'll give him that.

"I'd like to see you try," he growled as he threw the first punch. He'd intended it to be a sucker punch, hoping his words would distract me so his fist could hit my stomach. I was ready for it and flexed my abs, absorbing the blow. Everyone had seen it, though, and it freed me up to retaliate.

Ten minutes later he was unconscious and the boy who'd jumped in to try to help him sat to the side, his hand covering his bloody and broken nose.

"Roller, you can sell here tomorrow," I said. "But I don't know if you'd want to be around the stench."

Roller grinned at me, and we headed back to the distribution center to pick up some afternoon papers.

That evening, Rut came over to me in the lodging house.

"What the hell, Spot? Beatin' up on Hide when we's tryin' to work out a deal?" he challenged, and I looked up from the poker game I'd been winning.

"Call," I said to Lie, who flipped over his pair of sevens. I grinned, showed him my three twos, and collected the winnings before looking up at Rut.

"He sucker punched me. I took care of it," I said calmly. If there's anything I've learned over the years, it's to stay calm. Rut was anything but.

"Ya know, I don't know how you expect to take on leadership here if you can't keep your cool," Rut challenged, and I smirked at him.

"I ain't the one losing my cool, Rut," I said. Rut glared at me.

"You and me, outside," he growled, and I grinned at the prospect of a second fight for the day.

"Sure thing," I said, and we headed out.

I didn't see it coming. I was hardly through the door when Johnny tackled me from the side. Being taken off guard is one of those things I hate, so it rarely happens. It happened this time, though, and I had to work to get the upper hand as Johnny and Rut were both hell bent on beating the crap out of me. They're two of the best fighters in Brooklyn—but I'm the best, and I know it. I don't do the boxing rings, but if I were so inclined I could make a lot of money. It took some work to get the best of both of them, but I managed it. I won't say I won't be sore tomorrow, but I stood in the circle of boys holding my bruised ribs, watching Johnny try to use rapidly swelling fingers to remove his shoe and tend to his obviously broken foot while Rut lay on the ground, gasping for breath. Everything was silent for a moment, until Scar came over.

"I was going to leave tomorrow morning, but I think this is as good a time as any to make my exit," he said quietly to me. "I can spend the night at Ms. Cara's. Take care of Brooklyn." He handed me his cap, picked up a bag, and walked away. He didn't look back.

"You two have a choice," I growled at the two defeated boys. "You hold a grudge and leave now, or you leave tomorrow morning to sell papes in another borough with my recommendation. Either way you leave Brooklyn. You want to visit on good terms, I suggest you leave quietly tomorrow and accept my leadership"

Both boys nodded. I motioned to Lie, whispered briefly to him, and he nodded and took off.

"Boys under ten and these two hooligans—time for bed. Everyone else, time for some fun!"


	3. Katja2--Apology

The next day I came to the bench with determination. I would rectify my mistake. Mama and Papa raised me to treat others with respect, and this newsboy had not received my best. Papa had not yet returned from his most recent delivery, but the newsboy was there, calling out his headlines to the passing bankers. I headed in his direction, steeling myself for a conversation with a stranger.

"Excuse me, Mr. Conlon?" I asked. My voice was steady; that's good. I was looking up, ready for him to turn around so I could look him in the eye.

Only I wasn't. Ready, that is. He spun so quickly that I took a pace back and looked down. Mentally kicking myself, I squared my shoulders and looked up at his face for the first time, surprised at the intensity of his eyes.

"It's Spot."

"I—what?" I stuttered, my carefully planned speech flying right out of my head.

"Spot—to me friends, anyway. It's Ms. Fischer, right?" He said smoothly and with a hint of a grin.

"Katja," I replied firmly, proud of myself for speaking to a stranger so confidently. "And I came over to apologize. For yesterday." His eyes widened and a look of confusion clouded them. I could tell I was going to have to explain. "You were kind and helpful, and I could not even properly thank you for your actions. You deserved more than a mumble from me." My voice shook a bit as I spoke, but I was determined to finish. "I am sorry for treating you so poorly, and I wish to express my gratitude for your honesty."

Spot's surprise was evident. "Katja," he chuckled, "you thanked me. You and yer pa have been good customers, and ya've always treated me right. Most people don't take the time for a newsie, and they certainly don't take the time to apologize for not thanking one loudly enough. Just fer dat, ye can have a pape on the house today."

"Oh, no, Mr. Spot. My father would never forgive me if I accepted that," I gasped as I reached for a penny to pay for the paper he held out.

"You don't talk to people much, do you?" he asked as I exchanged coin for paper.

"No," I confessed, looking down again.

"Well, ya should. You got a nice voice." He chuckled before adding, "and nice eyes. Look up and start charming people with that smile. Otherwise you will just be apologizing again."

I did look up at that. I saw a mischievous twinkle in his eye that told me he was teasing me. I smiled.

"Thank you. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure."


	4. Spot2--Apology

"Thank you, M'am," I said to the lady who barely acknowledged my presence. Typical. I was cranky. Last night the boys and I had gone out to a vaudeville show, and afterwards the alcohol had been flowing freely. It had been fun, but somehow unsatisfying. Now I was tired, mildly hung over, sore as predicted, and annoyed at the customers.

"Excuse me, Mr. Conlon?" a sweet, feminine voice said behind me. I spun around, startled that someone would address me by name after I'd been ignored all day—and as Mr. Conlon at that!

I found myself looking into a pair of pretty green eyes, but only for a moment. Katja looked down at the sidewalk, and I was struck with curiosity. It seemed odd that she had addressed me, but now couldn't even look at me. I watched her pull herself together and look back up at me, though she didn't quite meet my gaze. I decided to try to put her at ease.

"It's Spot," I said. Mr. Conlon sounded way too formal for any dame to say, especially one as cute as this. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she had pretty eyes and something about her shy gaze was absolutely endearing.

"I—what?" she said, and I realized I had disrupted her thoughts. Good. Now she'd have to talk to me openly.

"Spot—to my friends, that is. It's Ms. Fischer, right?" I drawled, deliberately using her last name. Boy, it was too easy to get the upper hand on this girl. It didn't even feel like teasing when it was done this gently. I wondered if anyone had ever ribbed her.

"Katja," she answered, and I was strangely proud of her for recovering and answering so decisively. "And I came over here to apologize. For yesterday."

Apologize? I combed my memory of our brief encounter and couldn't come up with anything for which she needed to apologize. She had barely spoken three words, and all of it had been shy and quiet. I guess my confusion must have been obvious, because she continued, "You were kind and helpful, and I could not even properly thank you for your actions. You deserved more than a mumble from me. I am sorry for treating you so poorly, and I wish to express my gratitude for your honesty."

Now I was truly surprised. She was apologizing for not looking me in the eye? Man, if I could count the number of times I had soaked people for just that . . . the irony of that struck me, and I chuckled.

"Katja," I said, and I'd swear she blushed as I said her name, "you thanked me. You and yer pa have been good customers, and ya've always treated me right. Most people don't take the time for a newsie." I realized the other irony—that it was precisely this fact that had made me cranky all day—and carried on, "and they certainly don't take the time to apologize for not thanking one loudly enough. Just fer dat, ye can have a pape on the house today." I held out a newspaper, surprising even myself. I never gave away papes, even in the most extreme situations. For some reason, though, this girl made me want to be nice.

"Oh, no, Mr. Spot. My father would never forgive me if I accepted that!" she gasped, handing me a penny as she took the pape. Mr. Spot? That made me laugh.

"You don't talk to people much, do you?" I asked, trying to keep her going.

"No," she said. She was looking down again.

"Well, ya should. You've got a nice voice and nice eyes. Look up and start charming people with that smile. Otherwise you'll just be apologizing again." That should do it. I resisted the urge to wink.

It worked. She looked up, and I realized that maybe today wasn't so bad after all.


	5. Katja3--Red and Roller

Looking back I would say that those first interactions with Spot were so innocent somehow. Within a week I felt comfortable enough to talk a bit more with him, and it was not long before he would join Papa and me in discussing the news, even if only for a few minutes. We spent the summer of 1898 like that; Papa particularly enjoyed conversing with Spot as I tended Maus. It was obvious from the start that he really liked Spot, and Spot really liked him. They would talk a lot about the more political articles.

I was impressed; it seemed Spot actually read the entire paper. I worked up the nerve to ask him about his reading one day.

"I have to be able to sell the pape, so it helps if I know what's in it," he chuckled. I smiled shyly back.

"That makes sense, but isn't it enough to just read the headlines?" I asked.

"Sure," he explained. "Lots of the guys do it that way, especially the younger ones who don't read too good yet. But sometimes yer stuck with some time on yer hands and a few unsold papes to pass it. I started reading the articles, and I found I was able to sell better. I also found I learned more. So now I read the whole thing."

"The whole thing? How do you find the time?" I asked, surprised. Papa and I usually read the highlights together on our bench, and then we would read the rest at home.

"I taught myself how to read really fast," he said, shrugging.

"How fast?"

"At least twice as fast as most educated adults. I dunno how I do it; I just do," he shrugged again. I was impressed.

"Do you read other things?" I asked, and he winked at me.

"Nah. Newsies ain't got time for reading," he said, but somehow I didn't believe him. I was too shy to say it, though.

After that day Spot started pointing us to some of the articles he thought would interest us each day. For me it was anything that had to do with animals; he'd noticed I was a sucker for the horse and for animals in general. For Papa it was anything to do with the law, courts, or politics. Both of us loved some of the opinions, and we were fascinated by anything with travel or any mention of our native Germany. Spot typically sat with us for a short while, then headed off to sell his remaining papers while Papa and I read and discussed the articles. I would care for Maus some more while Spot returned and chatted with Papa. The afternoons outside were pleasant, even when the weather wasn't. These afternoons were an especially welcome break when Mama began to get sick.

At first it was just a shortness of breath. Mama had never been particularly physical. Being shy like me and uncomfortable with the English language, she tended to stay indoors. We mostly noticed it when we would be laughing around the dinner table. She would gasp for breath or sometimes clutch her left arm. By August the work around the house was becoming too much for her. I gradually took over more and more of the household chores. Mama would tell stories from her bed as I worked, and we grew closer than ever. I loved the fairy tales, even if they were a bit grim, that she told. We would recite poetry together, and we dreamed of the day we would own a house on the edge of town and a dog. I loved the time with Mama. I would still go out to bring Papa a meal each day, but increasingly I was the one doing the cooking as well as the delivering. Papa was coming home earlier to spend time with Mama, but I was busier and busier with the demands of the household. I was also taking on more of Mama's seamstress work, though I did not do it as well as she did.

By early September things were pretty bad. One evening when I was particularly tired, Mama turned to me.

"Katja," she said, her voice weak. "I know that you so rarely get out anymore. You have not seen your friends from school in weeks. This cannot go on. They cannot feel that you are neglecting the friendship." Trust Mama to worry about treating people right when she was seriously ill. Kindness and human goodness were always paramount in the Fischer household. "Why don't you take tomorrow to call on Hazel? She was always a sweet girl."

"Yes, Mama. Are you sure you'll be alright?" I asked, not wanting to appear too pleased. I had missed my friends.

"I think I can manage one day. You have made enough soup to last a week, and the house is clean. There is no more sewing to be done, as I have had no new clients in the last weeks. Please, enjoy yourself and give your friend my regards," she responded with a smile.

So there I was—headed to see my friend Hazel. It occurred to me that I had not been out in some time. Autumn was in full swing; it was still hot though. I headed down the road to Hazel's building when a noise caught my attention. A small boy of perhaps six was running down the road, two larger boys in hot pursuit. He was zigzagging past the people on the street when he ran full tilt into a teenager. This freckle-faced redhead was huge, and the little boy went sprawling.

"Red!" he shrieked as he looked at the bigger boy. The redhead looked down at the little one, then picked him up gently.

"Where's the danger, Roller?" he asked, his voice carrying a hard edge. The little boy pointed toward his two pursuers without a word, and Red addressed them directly. "And just what are you doing?" His voice was strong enough to stop me in my tracks.

The two aggressors, who looked to be about thirteen, both looked at the bigger boy nervously, then glanced at each other. Their confidence seemed to grow in that look, and they looked defiantly back at Red. "Nothing that concerns you. This rat was wandering around our neighborhood for no good reason, and we was just gonna show him why he should stay away."

Roller looked up at his rescuer with a fearful face. "I was jus' done sellin' and was coming back to the docks when dey chased me. I wasn't even doin' nothing wrong! I'se just sellin!" He looked at Red with wide eyes. Red ruffled his hair.

"You want to prevent Roller from working your neighborhood?" Red smiled wolfishly as the two boys drew to either side of him, obviously bent on attacking. "You can fight me. I might enjoy the chance to show pups like you how to treat a kid tryin' ta make a living. Of course, if you do that I will have to report it, and then you could take it up with Spot yourselves. Or you could walk away."

I jumped at the mention of Spot's name. My friend Spot? Of course, selling—the redhead and the younger boy must be newspaper boys. But why take it up with Spot? He didn't sell here. I smiled as the two bullies blanched and backed away. I couldn't blame them. That redhead was more than scary! I wondered vaguely if Spot knew or lived near the bullies that he could exert such influence on them that they would "take up" young Roller's situation with him. Shrugging, I resolved to ask him about it that afternoon and continued on to Hazel's house. I sincerely hoped those bullies would be punished by their mothers!


	6. Spot3--Fall 1898

After that first conversation I made it my mission to get her talking. I have no idea why, but it seemed of vital importance that she open up a bit and that I be the one to draw her out. Mr. Fischer's back injury gave me the perfect excuse to come over to their bench each day to bring them a pape, and I found that he was much easier and more relaxed than his daughter. I used that to my advantage, getting to know him and trying to engage in three-way conversations with Katja. She seemed equally determined to try to talk, especially in front of her father. It seemed to take months, but in hindsight it was probably only a few weeks before she started to feel at ease around me.

I was enjoying myself far more than I should. I actually liked talking to Mr. Fischer more than I thought I would. When I was with the newsies, I had an image to maintain. I had to play dumb. The strong Brooklyn accent was native to me, but years of working the business district taught me proper English. Most of us can do it—play our accent to our audience—but I am especially good at it. It was fun meeting someone who saw through me, though. My first impression of Mr. Fischer was right—there was no pulling the wool over his eyes. The man was perceptive in an almost uncanny way. Now, I can read people, but Mr. Fischer? He put me to shame. He was also smart. He read the paper every day, and I knew he kept a book on his carriage for times between fares.

That was a welcome change. The newsies read the papes so we can sell 'em, but most of the boys don't give a shit about what's actually going on. Can't say I blame 'em. The government doesn't exactly care much for a bunch of street urchins; we make our own way, and if they leave us alone, we're generally pretty happy. But I also know that those of us newsies who are involved in the running of things in the borough are the ones who get what we want. The other guys just complain. I guess governments are kind of the same way, so you could say I've always had a passing interest in politics.

Mr. Fischer and I talked a lot about the war. He seemed to enjoy talking about it. Katja joined us, and while she was mildly interested and certainly capable of conversing intelligently, her passions lay elsewhere. I watched her dote on the horse, and she loved anything related to travel. I started pointing out the articles they might like. I learned years ago to speed read; it just came naturally to me, and it helps me come up with headlines. Reading is actually a secret vice of mine—not that any of the boys knew it. I've read everything we have at the lodging house, which isn't much. Though honestly these days, with the summer dock wars, a poker tournament almost every weekend, and the general restlessness of the last few weeks, I haven't had much time for it.

It was nice talking with the Fischers every day. I tried hard never to overstay my welcome, but I admit that it almost felt, for those few minutes each day, like I had a sort of father figure in my life. It's hard to say it when you're as independent as I've become over the years, but I enjoyed having someone there for me. Katja was quickly becoming a friend, but Mr. Fischer was becoming the father I never had. It was frustrating that just as I was getting to know them, they began withdrawing. Apparently Mrs. Fischer had taken ill. She came out once or twice that summer, so I did meet her, but I didn't really get to know her.

It was also welcome break from running Brooklyn, that's for sure. I was always having to look out for the younger boys, so I had actually made it a rule that littler guys had to be paired up with bigger boys. It actually worked well; sales improved with the boys playing off each other, and there were fewer scrapes with the local bootblacks, messengers, and other street kids. The boys spent more time trying to catch fish in the fountains and other, more frivolous activities. I did most of the fighting—at least back in those early days—for the whole group. It worked well.

We also developed rules around manners and schooling. Those boys who didn't attend school in the mornings had to attend lodging house lessons in the evenings. Women were to be treated respectfully, and money had to be saved for winter lodging. Loyalty was paramount. I even allowed Johnny and Rut back to sell with us, but both had moved on. Better that way, I figured. The boys came to trust my judgment and leadership, and I was becoming comfortable with the role. All in all the summer was nice, and by early fall I was feeling pretty good about life.


	7. Katja4--Red

I spent an enjoyable few hours with Hazel and Ingrid, my two girlfriends. As all three of us are somewhat shy, studious girls with close-knit families, we are naturally drawn to one another. None of us had siblings, and all of us are known as readers and dreamers more than anything. I had missed them, not having been able to attend school with Mama's illness, and after a morning of walking around Prospect Park talking about the fashions, news, and gossip of the neighborhood, the conversation turned to boys. We giggled innocently at the thought of spending time alone with a boy. Ingrid teased Hazel mercilessly about Joseph, a boy at our school, and hinted that Joseph would be coming to claim a kiss in the near future. Hazel blushed furiously, and I couldn't help but laugh at her embarrassment. Ingrid turned an eye to me at that.

"Katja, I must know—are you sweet on any boys?" she asked, her eyes wide in feigned innocence.

"You know I have hardly left my house for a month! How could I possibly have time for any boys?" I shot back. I love being with trusted friends, able to tease and confide and laugh. I may be shy, but when I am comfortable with someone I dearly love to tease and be teased. Ingrid just smiled.

"Well, then," she said, "we shall just have to find you someone good looking." Hazel laughed, glad to be out of the limelight, and joined in the fun.

"Yeah," she added, "how about we find someone cute and bring him over?"

Ingrid looked around the park and grinned. "I have just the guy," she giggled. "Wait here." Hazel laughed as Ingrid, by far the most outgoing of our trio, headed over to a newsboy on the corner and dragged him over. My eyes widened as I recognized the boy.

"Not him," I whispered furiously to Hazel, who looked confused at the panic on my face.

"Why not? He is good looking, even if he is a bit older," she said, concern filling her face.

I was about to whisper a reply when we heard a drawling voice say, "And just who is it I'm supposed ta sweep off her feet?" I spun around and faced the large frame and mop of ginger curls that was Red.

"This is Katja," Ingrid's voice cut across my rising panic, and I forced myself to look into the face of the huge boy who had intimidated the two bullies so effortlessly. "Katja, this is . . . " she trailed off, realizing she didn't know the boy's name.

"Red," he supplied helpfully, giving me a cheeky grin.

"We'll just leave you go get to know each other," Ingrid finished, dragging Hazel away wither her. They giggled as I looked around in desperation. Some friends!

"Easy, Katja, I ain't gonna hurt you," Red drawled, and I blushed and looked down. "Your friend there just said you didn't have the opportunity to get out much and would enjoy some company. I think it was a set up, but I figured playing along could be fun. You know, we could really turn the tables on your friends if you want! Whaddaya say? Wanna give them a show?" His playful words and easygoing manner gave me the courage to look up at him and give a small smile. He looked far less menacing than when he had smiled at those two bullies.

"There ya go. Now, I'm just gonna reach out and stroke your arm if that's okay. Let 'em think I'm really makin' a move on ya." He waited until he saw acceptance from me before putting his hand on her upper arm, stroking it. I looked down again in embarrassment. "Now you just giggle as if I have said something really funny. If ya can manage it, pretend yer lookin' at me. Ya can just look at my chin."

I was beginning to see where this was going and played along. While I'm no actress, I certainly could pull this off at such a distance from my friends. I giggled, glancing over at my friends, and looked up at Red's chin, even daring a glance up into his face briefly. He nodded and smirked. "Now, I'm going to take you by the hand and move us behind that tree right there. Don't worry, I ain't gonna do anything but move us out of their line of sight," he added when he saw my flash of apprehension. His hand drifted down my arm to my hand, and he pulled me toward a big oak tree. It was at that moment that a cold, steely voice from behind me interrupted us.

"Just what are you doing with the lady, Red?" it said. The icy tone was serious, and Red tensed and turned slowly.

"Spot," he said, his nervousness evident. "It was just a joke on the lady's friends, I wasn't gonna—"

I turned at the name. I hadn't recognized the voice as that of my friend, but my eyes told me what my ears did not—this was Spot Conlon. Only he looked like I had never seen him before. His face was set, and his eyes glinted dangerously. I never realized how big he was before, but suddenly he seemed even bigger than Red. The danger he radiated caused me to step back. In typical Katja fashion, I stumbled over a tree root and crashed backwards into Red, whose hands moved involuntarily to catch me and keep me on my feet.

"Katja!" Spot said in surprise, his face softening for an instant before his eyes snapped back up to Red. Red righted me and leaped back as if touching me had burned him.

"Spot, I swear, I didn't—" he looked around frantically, taking another pace back.

"Spot," I breathed, almost afraid to look at him. "Is this a friend of yours?"

"Not if I saw what I think I did," Spot's strange, steely voice said. I missed his old voice.

"No, no, he didn't do anything," I mumbled. "It was a joke." I couldn't look up. I did not know this Spot. It was frightening.

"You—over there," he growled at Red, gesturing with his head to a lamppost several yards away. Red backed to it, never taking his eyes off Spot. I turned to watch him back away.

"Katja." Spot's normal voice was back. I dared to look up at him. "What did he do?" he asked gently, his eyes searching mine. I hadn't noticed how intensely blue those eyes were. He had never looked at me like that.

"Nothing, honest! My friend dragged him over as a prank on me, and he suggested turning tables on her. He was actually really sweet about it. He did nothing wrong!" Spot's normal voice gave me the courage to speak to the friend I knew rather than the steely-eyed menace I had seen moments before, and I met his gaze firmly.

"Cat, you sure you ain't coverin' for him?" he asked, using the nickname he occasionally gave me.

"No, I'm not. See, my friends are over there, and he asked my permission before touching me at all," I assured him, nodding my head towards Ingrid and Hazel, whose eyes were wide as they watched but could not hear the scene play out. I realized suddenly that this must look wild to them. "Call Red over," I said, suddenly overcome with a fit of madness. "We can really give them a show." Spot chuckled as he saw my amusement and realized what I was thinking.

"If you're having fun, let's give them a show," he said, putting his hand on my arm before motioning subtly for Red to rejoin us. "We'se givin' the lady's friends a bit of a show," he murmured to Red as his hands wandered possessively up my arm. "Play along and I might let you live through the night. Now, give me a dirty look and pull my arm off of her."

Red's eyes widened, but he did as he was told. Spot, glaring at Red but speaking to me, said, "Good. Now Cat, you just shove each of us in da chest, stomp off to your friends, and have a good laugh, eh? I'll catch up with you later." I did exactly that—shoved both boys in the chest and stomped off. I have to say, that was fun. I turned toward Hazel and Ingrid, both of whom were staring at me in disbelief, and I just laughed.


	8. Spot4--Red

I was walking over toward my lunch meeting with the Fischers. I'd been selling well and only had a few left as I crossed Prospect Park. I wasn't really paying much attention when a flash of red caught my eye. Red was talking to a dame and rubbing her arm. She had her back to me, but I could tell she was only about fifteen. I was about to continue when I saw him move to pull her behind a tree. No way, pal. Nobody does that to a lady that young—especially not one of my newsies. I came up to them quickly.

"Just what are you doing with the lady, Red?" I asked, and his eyes snapped up to mine.

"Spot! It was just a joke on the lady's friends. I wasn't gonna—" he started, but she interrupted him.

"Spot," she said turning to face me, and I thought my eyes were going to bulge out of my head. Katja! He was about to pull my Katja behind a tree? Oh, hell no. She took a step back, stumbling into Red as I blurted out her name in surprise.

Oh, Red knew he was in trouble! He caught Katja before she could fall, but I saw how quickly he moved his hands off her as he took a step back.

"Spot, I swear I didn't—"

She interrupted him again. "Spot, is this a friend of yours?"

"Not if I saw what I think I did," I said in a tone that let Red know he was in BIG trouble.

"No, no. He didn't do anything. It was a joke," she said. She was mumbling into the ground again. Damn. And here I thought we'd made progress. She looked scared. That's no good. She shouldn't be afraid.

"You—over there," I gestured to Red, and he backed away. I needed her to feel comfortable telling me the truth. "Katja," I said to her, and she actually looked at me. "What did he do?" I looked at her, trying to figure out if she was covering for him or if she seemed upset.

"Nothing, honest! My friend dragged him over as a prank on me, and he suggested turning tables on them. He was actually really sweet about it. He did nothing wrong." She seemed sincere and suddenly much more like herself. I looked at her for another moment.

"Cat, you sure you ain't covering for him?" I asked. She had been so nervous, and I had to be sure it wasn't because she was intimidated by Red.

"No, I'm not. See, my friends are over there, and he asked my permission before touching me at all," she said, and I relented. Good. He'd better ask. I saw Katja's friends about thirty yards away and realized she was the one using Red to have a go at them. Good girl! I loved that she was being open enough to let Red join the fun. "Call Red over. We can really give them a show," she added.

I had to laugh at that. My shy Katja wanted to give them a show, eh? I could do that.

"Well, let's give them a show, then," I said. I put my hand possessively on her arm and gestured mildly with my head for Red to come closer. He knew to do as he was told.

"We'se givin' the lady's friends a bit of a show," I said quietly to him, a bit of a smirk on my face. I rubbed Katja's arm, surprised by how much I enjoyed the contact. "Play along and I might let you live through the night. Now, give me a dirty look and pull my arm off of her." Red took a deep breath and met my gaze. I think he was checking to see if I was serious. I winked at him, and he smothered a return grin, then scowled at me and pulled my arm off as I gave Katja her instructions. I felt her hand give me a shove, and then she was gone. Red and I looked at each other in mock bewilderment before heading our separate ways.

As soon as the girls were gone, I doubled back to catch up with Red.

"Honest, Spot, her friends really did drag me over," he said as I walked up. I laughed at his nervousness.

"She told me," I assured him.

"You know her?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Been sellin' to her pop for years. They have lunch together every day. Got to talking to 'em both last spring. Nice folks."

"She's shy," Red observed.

"We've been workin' on that. One of the reasons I was so angry for what I thought I saw. Good one, though—you even had me going!" I punched him lightly in the arm, and he grinned. Then his face grew serious as he told me about an incident that morning with Roller. Damn. Poor kid was getting picked on everywhere, and I had just started allowing him to sell on his own again since the incident with Hide.

"Kid was smart, though," Red said. "He was quick on his feet and knew to find me. Stood his ground once I was there, too." I nodded, then sighed. I needed to nip this in the bud. Nobody picked on my newsies. I resolved to hunt these boys down and give them a small thrashing in the coming days.


	9. Katja5a--Girlfriends

Hazel and Ingrid were incredulous at my actions.

"I thought you were going to let that big boy kiss you," Hazel said, her eyes wide. "You seemed awfully chummy with him."

"Yeah, and that other boy seemed awfully taken with you. I thought he was going to drag you behind the tree and force a kiss on you," Ingrid added, her eyes even wider than Hazel's.

"And the way he scared the redhead off—he was terrifying! And I thought the redhead was scary enough" Hazel looked around furtively at that, as if either boy could materialize behind her.

"But I never thought you would have the guts to push away both of them at once. Heck, I never thought you'd have the guts to push any boy in the chest." Hazel added.

I was laughing hysterically at this point. They must've thought I'd lost my marbles. I could hardly breathe.

"It's not funny. We were worried about you," Ingrid said with a touch of irritation.

"Serves you both right for setting me up like that. I had to turn tables on you," I gasped between giggles. It took awhile with all my laughing, but I told them the whole story. Mama would never forgive me for outright lying or letting my friends believe something dishonest. I explained that Red had set them up and that I actually knew Spot. At first they were indignant, but after a few moments they saw the humor in the entire situation and began laughing with me.

After we had calmed down a bit, Hazel turned to me with wide eyes and asked, "So you really know that other newsboy? The blond one? You are really friends?"

"Yeah," I responded. "He's been selling Papa a newspaper for years now, and we talk sometimes. Papa really likes him. They like to talk politics. Sometimes I do, too."

"Well, he's cute. We should set you up with him," Ingrid responded.

"No way!" Hazel jumped in, swatting Ingrid's arm. "Newsboys are not good boyfriends. They fight and yell and swear and steal. I've even heard they," and here her voice dropped to a whisper, "visit houses with those women."

I gasped. I could not imagine Spot—my friend Spot, who tipped his hat and smiled when he said thank you—fighting or cursing—and certainly not that. Then I remembered his voice before he knew that Red was just messing around, and I remembered how nervous Red had been when backing away. I shuddered and quickly turned the subject back to Hazel's Joseph in an effort to clear that idea from my head. If my friends noticed, they did not say anything.

That evening my mind drifted back to what Hazel had said. I so wanted to talk to Papa! I had so many questions.

As if he had been summoned, Papa walked through the door. I handed him his supper and motioned toward Mama, who had been asleep when I arrived home. I fussed in the kitchen as I struggled to find the words for the questions I wanted to ask. While I was still looking for the words, Papa interrupted my thoughts.

"What's the matter, Katja?" he asked in our native German.

"When I was with Hazel today she said something that has me thinking," I answered in the same language. Somehow it seemed easier this way; our family always talked about the most serious things in our native tongue. "She said that newsboys like Spot were always fighting and cursing and – and doing other things," I finished lamely. Papa nodded once, taking a moment to absorb the unvoiced question.

"Kati, look outside. The streets here are hard. Many of the children here do not have the same family that we have. We are very lucky. We have work and a comfortable home. We have each other. Boys like our Spot many times do not have the family like we do. They do not have a proper home. Some are lucky to have enough to eat. They must become hard men when they should just be boys. Yes?" He looked at my nod and nodded himself before continuing. "We must never judge someone for doing things differently. We must always see that people do their best. Our Spot, he has a good heart. He is smart and capable. I think he will become a businessman someday, and he is always truly kind to everyone I see. He does his best with what God has given him. We must never judge him or anyone else. Just remember, Kati, to see his heart with yours as you always have, and nothing will change in your friendship."

I smiled then. Papa made it so clear. It was so simple. Spot was still Spot. "Thank you, Papa," I said, throwing my arms around his neck.

"Now then," he smiled, switching back to English. "Let us enjoy this fine evening while you tell me of your visit with your friends, ja?" I nodded, smiling to myself as I began to relate some of what had transpired that day.


	10. Katja5b--Naive

Carrying soup is no easy business, but the pot I held was steady as I reached our bench the next day to meet Papa. The spoon in my apron pocket made its way into his hand before I turned back to Maus. I finished quickly, looking for Spot so I could buy my paper. I saw him coming towards us, one newspaper in hand.

"Mr. Fischer, Cat" he greeted as he approached, handing us his last paper of the day. I handed him the penny, and Papa shoed us both away. "I am tired today," he said, though I could tell this was not the case. "Perhaps the two of you could leave me some peace before I must return to work?"

"Sure, Papa," I said, smiling at Spot. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" He chuckled and joined me. We were scarcely out of earshot when he turned to me with a bit of an impish grin.

"Did you tell him what happened yesterday?" he asked, smirking a bit.

"Actually, no," I said, smiling as his face fell slightly. "I did have a question for you though, and I think he sensed it." Spot looked at me curiously, and I took a deep breath before plunging ahead. "I saw Red yesterday morning protecting a little newsboy from two bullies. He said that if they had a problem they could take it up with you. I thought you might know the two bullies' parents or something and was wondering if you were going to make sure their mothers punished them."

Spot just stared at me for a moment, dumbfounded. Then his face grew softer than I have ever seen it, and he smiled almost sadly at me. "Cat," he said, ruffling my hair, "you are the most innocent girl I have ever met. I love that. Don't ever change." He took a deep breath before I could interrupt him and held up a finger to stop me. "But no, that's not what Red meant. Red meant that they could pick a fight with him or they could pick a fight with me. He was letting them know in no uncertain terms that I would not tolerate their treatment of Roller."

I stared at him, waiting for him to explain. He would actually fight them? When Spot chuckled again I realized I had actually voiced the question aloud. "Katja, the streets are tough, especially for little guys like Roller. They need the protection that we bigger ones can give. I have spent years learning to fight—first to protect myself, and now to protect others. I don't expect you would even know this, but I am the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. They all answer to me. I keep order and discipline, and I keep them safe. In order to do that, yes, I have to fight. I have to fight a lot, and I have to win." I couldn't help it. I was staring at him in astonishment.

He smiled and continued, "The good news is that I don't have to fight as much anymore. Most kids on the streets of Brooklyn are starting to know my name. Sometimes the threat is enough, like yesterday. Red knew it would be. He's one of the best fighters in Brooklyn, and he does a great job lookin' out for the younger ones. That's why I had him sell near Roller; the kid's just startin' to sell by himself." I nodded, trying to understand just how things worked for someone like Spot.

"I see," was all I said. Spot laughed again.

"Darlin', I don't think you do. But that's what I'm sayin'. Talkin' to you and yer pop is the peaceful part of my life. You see all the good and none of the bad, and that's a real gift, Cat. A gift I enjoy every time I see you both."

"I guess I just never thought about your world before. I never really thought about where you lived or who your friends were," I said, embarrassed to admit it.

"I wanted it that way," was all Spot answered. We walked a bit further in silence. I was thinking hard about all that Spot had said. Suddenly I was bursting with curiosity.

"Can I see your world?" I spun towards him so suddenly that he actually took another pace before stopping.

"Cat, there will come a time soon enough when you will see parts of it without wanting to. Enjoy not knowing. You will know soon enough, and when that happens you will regret wanting to see it." Spot's voice was dark and his eyes had regained that steely look that had frightened me earlier. When I looked at him I realized the slight bitterness was not directed at me, and I understood that Spot was right. I shivered at the thought, and he looked at me with the same softness I had always known. "I promise you, though, that I will do my best to help you understand and feel safe when that time comes."

I smiled at him, then remembered something else I had wanted to ask him. "So if you're the leader of the newsies, is that why Red is afraid of you even though he's bigger than you?"

Spot laughed at that. "Yeah," he answered, chuckling. "You shoulda seen the soakin' I gave him two months ago when he tried to get all uppity. I wasn't in charge yet, and he thought I wasn't up to it. We had to fight it out to see which of us would be next in line, and let's just say I won so decisively that he won't try challenging me for awhile!" I smiled at that.

"He's nice, though," I said, and that elicited another laugh from Spot.

"Yeah, real nice." He laughed even harder, and I just giggled with him as we returned to Papa.

In hindsight, those two perfect days with the girls and Papa and with Spot were the last happy ones I was to have for some time.


	11. Spot5--Cute

Damn, she was cute. She really had no idea about the world I lived in, did she? I didn't know anybody could be that naïve, and it probably would have irritated me in most people. In Katja, though, it was endearing. She wanted to see my world, not because she wanted to know anything of the darkness of my reality, but because she wanted to know me better. That made me smile. I don't think she would understand most of my world. I sighed to myself as a reality hit me. I knew that sooner or later that would change, but I felt like it was my duty to protect her from the knowledge of all things bad for as long as I could. I decided, though, that maybe I should start introducing her to a bit of my world in a safe way. I would bring the boys by. Maybe then I could convince myself that my need to protect Katja was nothing but looking out for a client who was good to me and the boys. Maybe I could. No, not really. Damn.


	12. Katja6--Changes, Puppy

The cooler weather got to Mama. She took a dramatic turn for the worse, and Papa quit working so much so he could stay at home with her. We knew we were losing her, and we enjoyed the time we had left as a family as much as we could. I didn't get out much. Now that Papa wasn't working all the time I wasn't bringing him dinner, so I didn't see much of Spot. I did get a newspaper from the corner from time to time, and I always told whatever newsboy was there (a boy named Ace most of the time) to tell Spot that I said hello, though.

Ingrid came by a few times, but Hazel stopped by only once. She was crying. Her family was moving to St. Louis; her father had an attractive job offer there. I was glad she had come to say goodbye and excited for her family, but it was awful to see her go, knowing that chances were poor that we would meet again. She did promise to write. Ingrid and I became closer after that, but Mama's illness kept me from going out to see her.

In mid-October, Mama passed. It was peaceful; she simply let us know that she was done. Papa told her it was okay. He kissed her forehead, muttered something to her, and she just fell asleep forever. She was buried in the pauper's cemetery with a crude wooden headstone. We couldn't afford more—with Papa working so little, we had even fallen behind on rent. Ingrid came to the funeral with her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Meyer were from Hamburg like Mama and Papa, and they had been friends. A few of Mama's clients were there, and, much to my surprise, so was Spot. He didn't say anything; he just sort of hung in the back and listened, and I wondered how he knew since I hadn't seen him. He did shake Papa's hand, and as I walked by he gave my shoulder a squeeze. I couldn't look at him, though.

Papa was quiet in the weeks after Mama passed. He started working again, fretting over Maus and the grueling hours they were putting in trying to make ends meet. Our meager savings were gone, and with what we owed the doctors and without Mama's seamstress income, things were tighter than ever. It was about two weeks after Mama died that I finally realized what needed to happen.

"Papa," I said to him one morning as we picked up Maus from the livery and hitched her to the wagon, "I think I should get a job."

"Liebling," he sighed, and he turned to me with earnest eyes. "What about school? Your mama did so want more for you than this." I had expected an answer like this, and I was prepared for it.

"Do you remember when you told me how lucky we were compared to Spot?" I asked. He nodded, not quite sure where this was going. "I thought about it, and I think that, even working, I am still lucky. I have you. We have a home. We can make it work. But we need more money so that we can continue to have that home. I have you to teach me, and there are schools at some of the missions. We can make the school thing work, but only if we have money first. Maus is not going to live forever, especially at the rate you have been working. We will need to save up again. We can do that if I am working. We are lucky, Papa. We don't have to fight other people just to stay safe like Spot does. We have choices. This is MY choice, and I want your support, just as I have always supported you."

Papa just hugged me then. He was crying. It was a long time before we were both able to speak.

"You are so much like your Mama when she was your age," he whispered. "So determined to help others and to find her own way."

"I miss her," I whispered back.

Wouldn't you know it? I found a job pretty quickly. I would be working in a textile factory, but as a cleaning girl. That meant that I would not have to operate the dangerous machinery that scared Papa so badly. All in all it wasn't that terrible. I was able to bring in enough money to begin to pay down our debt and to buy food while Papa covered rent. We were even saving for a headstone for Mama, though very slowly. It wasn't glamorous, but I kept reminding Papa how lucky we were. I was even able to work the early shift, starting at 5 am, so that I could be home in time for dinner.

Papa and I kept our ritual of having a meal outside any time the weather would permit, even though I really should have been doing housework and Papa should have been taking on clients; we had simply started meeting just a bit later after I left work. Somehow, that ritual—the newspaper, the bench, and sometimes Spot's company—that was our haven, our link to the world of happier times. There was even one new highlight. Spot started bringing by some of the other newsboys. At first it was just Red and then Roller. Ace and a few others followed. It was nice getting to see a bit of his world by meeting his friends, and I was always amused by the way these rough-looking boys looked to Spot for approval. It was obvious they adored him, and as a result they worked hard to impress Papa and me. It was really sweet to watch them try to put on their best manners as if Papa and I were somehow high society.

There was even one additional bright spot in our lives. Sometime in late November, Red came to our bench. He had stopped by to visit regularly since Mama, and I found him to be just as pleasant as Spot, if perhaps not quite as well-read. That day, though, he had something in his arms.

"Cat, Mr. Fischer," he greeted politely as he approached.

"Red!" I exclaimed, grinning.

"Ach, is that it?" Papa said, looking at Red's bundle. I started as I realized it was moving.

"Happy belated birthday, Katja!" Red said, depositing a squirming puppy in my lap. I stared at him. How did he know that I had just turned fifteen?

"Wha—" I stuttered, staring at the black and white fluff ball in my lap. A dog? A tiny tongue licked my finger, and I smiled, entranced, at the fierce brown eyes. Papa's laughter snapped me out of it.

"I think she likes it!" he roared, slapping his knee. Red chuckled as I turned to them.

"How is this supposed to work?" I asked, reality setting it. "We both work! We can't take care of a puppy."

"That's the rest of the present," a voice behind me said. Spot, Roller, Ace, and Silver were walking up, smiling. "We have it all worked out," Spot continued, winking broadly at Papa. He pulled a leather thong off his neck. A key dangled on it. "See, I can sell near ya house. I can take care of the pup here until youse get home. Me boys can help. Yer pa's already given me the key to yer place."

I looked around in astonishment at Papa and the newsboys. This was too much. The puppy in my lap nipped on my finger, demanding attention. I began to tear up as I looked from the little creature to the friends who had made this possible. I turned to Papa.

"Danke," was all I managed.

"Kati, it's obvious you have been lonely these weeks," Papa said in German, mindful of the many eyes on us. "Your friends and I have been worried about you." He switched into English. "So, what should be his name?"

"Jimmy," I replied instinctively. I have no idea why that name popped into my head, but it did. I saw Spot's eyebrows lift, and I smiled. "Jimmy."


	13. Spot6a--Puppy, Future

Well, it worked. Our surprise. Cat loved it. I had missed her when her mother had died, and I worried when she started working that she wouldn't be able to join us anymore. I did, however, spend time talking to her father and getting to know him a bit better before we worked out a new schedule. He was a good man, and the loss of his wife hit him hard. It was clear, though, that he enjoyed the company I brought by. He liked Ace a lot, and Roller made him smile. More than anything he worried about his little girl. She hadn't been the same since the loss of her mother. She didn't smile as much, and the work was getting to her.

Mr. Fischer had decided to grant her dearest wish—a pet. I had asked around, and we had made a plan to find the puppy. Greasefoot, a reliable boy of almost thirteen, had a friend whose bitch had just had pups. We chose one and made arrangements to pick it up for Katja's birthday in mid-November. It wound up being a few days after her birthday, but I have to say that her surprised face was completely adorable. She was touched, and her pa and I enjoyed planning how to care for the beast. I would not have gone that far out of my way for a stinkin' dog for anyone but the Fischers. The boys felt the same way; they were growing fond of Mr. Fischer and Katja.

The Fischers didn't know it, but every day they drew lots to be allowed to come to the bench—otherwise every newsboy in Brooklyn would be there every day! In the mornings I would let them know who was coming, and boys who had earned the privilege, like Red, were given more visits. I think Katja would have been appalled at this process, but she didn't realize what it would have done to her father's business if we'd all showed up every day. I think Mr. Fischer suspected, but he left running the newsies to me, even if I did get advice from him from time to time.

I did distribute the puppy duties, but only to those older boys I trusted the most; it wouldn't do having dirty boys traipse through the Fischers' apartment, and I didn't trust the sticky fingers of some of the guys. Mostly, though, I did it myself. I don't know why. I just have this stupid soft spot for that girl and her pop. Days when I didn't see her were becoming rare—and typically the result of some nonsense that irritated me more and more. When I fought, I no longer wanted things to drag out in any way, realizing that efficiency got me back to the Fischers faster, and as a result my reputation was becoming bigger and bigger. I was getting my way more, and that freed me up to spend early dinner time with the Fischers.

Mr. Fischer was also starting to give me advice about my future. He said I had potential. I know I'm intelligent, but I had never considered college. Mr. Fischer disagreed, and he and I started planning. I was already saving for my life after selling papes, and with his encouragement I began working toward a formal education. It wasn't hard. I worked with the evening tutors at the lodging house to do the work independently, and I admit I found it a bit too easy. I was on track to finish my schooling by the summer. Mr. Fischer and I began talking about my career options. I knew that, unlike Scar, I couldn't work in a factory; that sort of life wasn't for me. I figured at the very least I could start saving for college. It seemed ridiculous—an orphan going to college-and I doubted I could ever save that much. College was more for the high society types. But Mr. Fischer believed in me, so I was going to give it a shot.


	14. Spot6b--Gina, Past

I usually hate Christmas. It wasn't a big holiday for most newsies at the lodging house. Those who had families would spend Christmas with them. There was nothing to sell, so it was a rare day off for us. Food at the lodging house is free that day, as is lodging, but there are no real gifts. The charities give clothing, so that part is nice, but we don't get personalized gifts. I've never really celebrated the day. I mean, I know Christmas is all about cheer and giving and all, but newsies can't afford to give each other gifts. So it was strange trying to decide what to give to Katja and her father that year. I fingered the key on my neck and had an idea. One that would require entering a shop.

I looked around the little jewelry store in bewilderment. While I had often accosted customers as they were coming out, I had never been inside. I must have looked a bit lost—a feeling to which I am not accustomed—because the salesman took pity on me. I told him some lame story about wanting to get something for my girlfriend, and he was surprisingly helpful. Getting a gift for Mr. Fischer proved easier. It was actually nice to imagine their faces when they received their gifts. This shopping thing was kind of fun!

Feeling especially light hearted, I headed back to the lodging house. I hadn't gone far when I heard a female voice.

"Spot Conlon!"

I turned around and saw Gina, one of the working girls at Ms. Cara's whorehouse. She was my favorite of the girls at Ms. Cara's, though I tried to avoid the place. Ms. Mina's in Manhattan was far better, and I always wondered what Salama, the older black lady who had been my first, told the girls at Ms. Cara's. Salama had been a great one to break me in because she didn't have a stake in my reputation the way some of the others did. Gina was another story. She was my age, and I think she held out hope that I would be her ticket out of that place. I wouldn't. That girl was a great lay, but she wasn't much use for anything else—no intelligence, no ambition, nothing but cattiness and laziness.

"Gina," I said, and she came over and latched onto my arm.

"I've missed seeing you around. You haven't forgotten what a good time I can show you, have you?" she batted her eyes at me. I grinned.

"Nah, just been busy," I said nonchalantly. I wasn't exactly looking to spend coin after buying gifts that day. "And broke," I added for good measure.

"Why don't I remind you? On the house as long as you don't tell Cara," she said. Hey, who am I to turn down a freebie?

Afterwards as I was putting on my clothes, Gina picked something up off the floor. It was Katja's gift that had somehow fallen out of my pocket.

"What's this?" she asked as I snatched the little package from her and put it back in my pants.

"None of your business," I snarled at her, and she flinched. "Sorry," I said. I hadn't meant to be so aggressive, but somehow the thought of her touching Katja's gift bothered me. "It's just a gift for a friend."

"A girlfriend?" she asked, surprised and sounding a touch hurt.

"Nah, just a friend who's a girl," I said, playing it cool. Spot Conlon does not have a girlfriend. He's too tough for that. Whoring and soaking bums, that's his thing, right? I was suddenly desperate to get out of there.

"See ya around, Gina. Thanks for the company. It was fun as always," I said, bolting.


	15. Katja7--Christmas

Christmas was been hard, but we had celebrated with the Meyers on Christmas Eve, which in the German tradition is the important holiday. On Christmas Day, Spot came over. It was weird at first, having him in our home, until I remembered that he spent a lot of time there with Jimmy. What was awkward was that Spot had obviously never celebrated Christmas before. I asked him about it as Papa took a turn with Jimmy in the alley. I was embarrassed to realize once more how little I knew about Spot.

"Nah, I've been on the streets too long," he answered. "I sorta remember me ma singin' some songs to me, but that's it."

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"Don't rightly know. I was little and don't remember a lot. I think she got sick. I know we lived in a cramped apartment with another lady and her kids. We were out playing and when I came back the lady dragged me outside and told me that me ma was gone and that I should leave. She didn't let me inside, just handed me a bundle and marched me over to a copper and left. I was five."

"Spot—" I started, unsure of what exactly to say.

"I was in a few orphanages for awhile, but they never worked for me. I musta been about seven when one of the older newsies took me in and taught me to sell papes," he continued. "I've been workin' ever since."

I just stared at him, not sure what to say. He glanced over at me and chuckled. "It ain't so bad, Cat. I got friends and respect. I found somethin' I'm good at. I even have some savings for the future. I got freedom. And when things get rough, I come see youse."

"How long ago was that?" I asked, realizing I didn't even know how old Spot was.

"Eight years," he responded with a grin. "I know me birthday is in the spring, and I will be sixteen. Don't know the exact day, though."

What does one say to that? My brain scrambled for words, and I latched onto one of his other comments. "You have savings?" I blurted out.

"Sure. We at da lodging house have a jar. Everyone puts a few pennies in there when they can so we can cover the boys who have a rough day or who get sick. Ise the leader. I gotta have extra to cover all the new kids and what the jar can't cover. I can't be a newsie forever, so I have another jar that's just for me."

"How much do you have?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I aint tellin ya that! Let's just say I'm very good at selling newspapers and at saving me coins." He smiled at me.

Wow. I had no idea.

"I did spend a little on youse, though," he added, pulling something out of his pocket. I stared at him. I had not expected him to give me anything, but here he was, holding out a small package. I took it tentatively, opening it slowly. It was a necklace—a delicate silver chain with a small key pendant.

"It matches mine," he winked, holding up the leather thong with our house key on it. I chuckled, then gave him a swift kiss on the cheek as we heard the doorknob rattle. Papa walked in with Jimmy, his cheeks flushed with the cold.

"I have something for you, too, Mr. Fischer," Spot said, turning to Papa. I was astonished. He pulled out another package, handing it to Papa, who smiled.

"Thank you, young man," Papa said, smiling as he opened the box and pulled out a new pipe.

"We got you something, too," I remembered, jumping to my feet. I handed Spot the book we had gotten him, Memoirs of Great Leaders. Spot smiled at the title, then flipped it open to read the notes that Papa and I had each written to him on the inside cover.

"Thank you," he said softly, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

We may have been missing Mama, but Christmas of 1898 wasn't so bad.


	16. Spot7--Christmas

Christmas was wonderful. I hadn't realized how good it felt to give someone a gift, and I had never been treated as a member of a family before. I decided that day that I would someday have a family—wife, kids, home. I would buy them as many gifts as I could, and we would have a Christmas tree . . . and somehow the Fischers found their way into that fantasy. Were they really that much my family? I was truly touched that they got me such a fitting book, and I read their inscriptions again.

"Spot,

You have become a regular fixture in our lives, and your presence has made life easier on both of us since the passing of my dear Anja. I am proud to know such an upstanding and capable young man. It is a fortunate thing for the city of Brooklyn that you are the leader of the young men on the streets. They have a fine role model in you, and I know that you are teaching them good things. You have a bright future, and I look forward to many years of watching you grow into a leader of this city's adults as well as its young people. You are a welcome addition to our family. Remember you can always come to me for anything. I wish you all the best for the coming year and for your future.

Alfred"

"Spot,

You have been such a good friend to me. I've never trusted anyone the way I trust you. Papa says you will do great things, and I agree. I just hope you don't forget about us. You've been so supportive since Mama died, and I don't know what I would do without you. Thank you for teaching me to be less shy. I can look people in the eye now thanks to you. You're the best. Lots of love this Christmas and for years to come,

Katja"

I won't get tired of reading that. Ever. I had a family.

Christmas of 1898 remains one of the most special days of my life.


	17. Katja8--Spring

By spring, life had settled into a new normal. We saw less of Spot, but we saw a bit more of Roller, who always made sure we had our paper. I wondered if Spot sent him. Roller was still a kid, but it was obvious the streets were making him tougher. He would occasionally show up to our evenings on the bench with a shiner or a story of some fight or scam. He never shared the stories when the bigger boys were around, but on occasions he would tell us about a scam that involved fumbling for change so ineptly that the customer would get impatient and just give up. While my eyes widened at the dishonesty to which someone so young would stoop, I learned quite a bit from watching Papa roar with laughter at Roller. I understood that Papa did not judge Roller and that circumstances for the boy must be rough, and I learned not to judge him, either. Ingrid, who had become more of a regular at our outdoor dinners, was learning these lessons with me, and it was nice to see so much of her. She and I often discussed what life must be like for the boys.

"Ace told me that someone tried to rob the lodging house," she told me one day as we stood under an awning to avoid the chilly spring rain that had interrupted our trip to the market.

"Who would do that? And why?" I asked, aghast that such things would happen.

"It was some men who worked on the wharf," she said. "They heard the newsboys kept a jar with money in it, so they went looking for it while the boys were out selling."

"What happened?" I asked, and she looked at me with wide eyes.

"Spot," she said, shrugging.

"What about him?" I asked, confused.

"Ace said that he caught them and beat them up," she said.

"By himself? Grown men?" I couldn't believe it.

"Three of them—all sturdy dock workers, according to Ace. Said that Spot didn't even break a sweat."

I was impressed, but I have to say that it made me wonder once again at the boys' world. My Spot wouldn't hurt a fly! Unless one of his boys needed his help, I realized. It was obvious he was fiercely loyal to and protective of them. I wondered again at his hard life.

"You and Ace sure are getting chummy," I teased, mostly to deflect from the direction my thoughts had taken. Ingrid had the grace to blush, but that's all I got out of her that day, no matter how much I gave her a hard time. Oh, well. She and Ace were obviously attracted, but realistically, Ingrid was too shy for there to be anything to tell anyway.

As March drew close, Papa and I became a bit down. Mama's birthday was approaching, and we desperately needed a distraction. It came to me like a flash one morning a few days before. Spot!

"Papa?" I queried, eager to share my idea with him.

"Kati?" He quipped, looking up at me as we bedded down Maus for the night.

"Papa, Spot told me once that he didn't know when his birthday was, but that it was in the spring. I was thinking—should we throw him a birthday party?"

"You are thinking of giving him your Mama's birthday, ja?" he asked, and I nodded. "Katja, I think that is a wonderful idea. You plan it with those friends of yours. I will celebrate with you."

And so it happened that Red and I schemed with Ingrid to plan a birthday for Spot. The problem was that he hated surprises. It was Ingrid who finally sighed and admitted defeat.

"We can't surprise him, and he won't accept a fuss. It's only natural that you do something more private for him," she said, glancing at Red, the only newsboy with whom we had shared our idea. He nodded.

"Spot can't appear weak in front of the boys, and his mystery is part of his power. The fact that nobody knows how old he is or anything about his past is part of that. Spot can't have a birthday. At best he can celebrate with you without anyone else," Red explained in agreement. It left me no closer to finding a way to celebrate, but at the very least the puzzle had distracted me from the fact that I missed Mama.

On April 5th, I showed up to our bench surprised to find Spot and Papa deep in conversation. I hoped that Papa wasn't going to ruin anything, and quickened my pace. Jimmy bounded ahead on his gangly puppy legs, causing both men to look up and smile. My smile died on my lips, though, as I saw Spot's face covered in bruises and a few small cuts. His entire left cheek was swollen. What the—

"Katja, I am glad you are here," Papa said as I looked at them both in astonishment. "It would seem our friend here has had a rough few days. Maybe you should take him out, cheer him up a bit for us both, ja? I can take care of Maus." He winked at me and pulled me into a hug. I handed him his dinner, and he grabbed my hand and put a few coins in it. "Take our Spot here to dinner." He practically shooed me off, and I just glanced at Spot.

He smiled lopsidedly and we headed off, Jimmy trotting alternately ahead and trailing behind as he sniffed some exciting scent.

"So yer pa seems eager to see the two of us off this evening," Spot said, grinning at me.

"Yeah. What did you say to him?" I shot back, wanting to wipe the smirk from his face.

"Actually, I asked him if I could spend some time with just you, and he burst out laughing! Almost as if he'd been hoping to get rid of ya." Spot glanced sidelong at me. I carefully schooled my face. Spot would know I was hiding something, but he wasn't going to get it out of me that easily!

We found a place to eat—an actual sit down restaurant with reasonable prices that wasn't too fancy. Neither of us was exactly able to dress up.

"What happened to your face?" I asked after we had ordered.

"Coupla thugs," was his only response. I glared, and he threw up his hands in defeat. "Actually, I was glad to have the evening with you. The violence and tension has been a bit much lately, and I've been having to work harder to keep me boys safe. Ace took quite a beating, and Ab' was lucky Red came along when he did. I had to go take care of it, and this happened." He sighed. "You're still my innocent one, Cat. You somehow make all of the other stuff seem like another reality rather than my own life."

"Well, I—I mean—" I stuttered, trying to piece together that answer. "Happy Birthday," I said lamely, handing him a tissue wrapped bundle.

Spot stared at it for a moment before breaking out into quiet laughter. I was confused. What was so funny? My cheeks burned, and I looked at the floor—something I hadn't done around him in ages. "Cat," he managed to gasp between chuckles.

"What?" I snapped. He stopped at that and looked at me carefully. I hate when he does that—probes me with his eyes. I feel so vulnerable.

"You have no idea what I mean when I say you're innocent. You just carry on as if there were nothing but beauty in the world, giving me a birthday as if there were no gangs, no thugs, no soakings, no lodging house to run, no papers to sell, and no kids to protect. You just celebrate a birthday." He ran his hand through his blond hair, then looked at me with such wonder that I began to flush again. He picked up the package and pulled out red suspenders. His grin widened. "Well, these are certainly useful!" he said, and I smiled. I was still a bit confused as to why he had laughed, but he was enjoying his birthday, and I planned to roll with it.

"Ingrid and Papa were in on it, too," I told him, snatching a green bean off his plate. He swatted my hand away, and we were back to the normal conversations. I related the effort of planning something for him, and we shared from books we had been reading. I surreptitiously gave Jimmy, who was sitting quietly at my feet, some food, and Spot gave me a knowing wink. How had he spotted that? He laughed at my surprise and winked again as he told me he had already given Jimmy plenty of food. I hadn't even noticed! All in all it was a nice evening out.

As we were headed back to my place, Jimmy trotting ahead faithfully, Spot stopped me suddenly and looked at me seriously. "Cat, thank you for sharing your Mama's birthday with me," he said earnestly.

"How did you know?" I gasped.

He grinned impishly at me. "You don't get to be the leader of Brooklyn without knowing things," he said enigmatically, and I just gaped at him. He smiled, put his arm on my shoulder, and turned me toward home.


	18. Spot8--Keeping Control

That spring was a strange one for sure. While my control over Brooklyn's street population was pretty solid by now, I was struggling. The word on the street was that the newsies were getting rich. This was, of course, laughable, though I will say that the boys were selling better these days. We had finally made our deal with the bootblacks, selling them some of our papes each morning so that they could offer a pape with the shoe shine. People are so clueless; the bootblacks simply charged a penny more for the shine, which covered the price of the newspaper, and we were guaranteed sales—and they got more business, too. Rather than compete for customers, the newsies would simply sell to passers by who did not opt for the shoe shine. They'd be on hand to replenish the supply to the bootblacks. This meant fewer unsold papes since the bootblacks would end up buying more than they needed most days, but it also was good for their business. We all did well, and more importantly, there were fewer fights with those guys. The messengers, too, were becoming more respectful. All in all things were going well, but that did not mean that we had more money. On the contrary; many of the boys, while still contributing to the jars and saving as per the rules, were spending more money on races, vaudeville shows, women, and alcohol.

Now, don't get me wrong; I didn't begrudge the boys those things, especially since I spent money on the same. But the point was that we were hardly richer than we had been in the past. The good news was that each boy now had some fallback cash. I had a sock for each boy in my locker, and any day they had made more than 35 cents, I expected a penny in the sock. I also expected a contribution to both the sock and the jar after the first 40 cents on the third good day. When a boy moved out of the lodging house, he got his sock, often with a dollar or two in it, and when he sold poorly, we had the option to use the money to cover his night in the lodging house—mandatory for my boys in the rain or in the winter—or a meal. The group jar was always raided first, but it was also never very full. Many of the new boys used it to cover what they didn't sell or to buy the next day's papes if they had had a particularly rough day. The system meant that nobody starved or froze to death, but it was harsh leaving them with so little profit. That's why when boys had extra to spend I let them.

"Spot!" I heard Ace yelling behind me one day in March. He was running, and I could tell something was wrong.

"What's the matter, Ace?" I said, instantly clutching my cane. Damn, and I had hoped to see the Fischers that day. I hadn't seen them much lately.

"Someone robbed the lodging house!" he said, and I swore. We sprinted back to the lodging house, and he filled me in. Silver had apparently come back early and surprised the thieves, who had beaten him pretty good. He was there now. I burst into the bunkroom and found Silver asleep on his bunk. He looked a bit worse for wear, but I could tell he would recover. I shook him awake as gently as I could.

"Tell me," I said softly.

"Three guys from the wharf. You know the goon with the grey bowler and his buddy with the black sweater?" I nodded. Those two I knew, and I knew they had a third pal.

"I'll get it back," I said. "Good job, Silver. Get some rest."

I headed over to the wharf, Ace in tow. It didn't take me long to find the three guys.

"You've got something of mine," I said.

"Come and take it. We can do the same to you that we did to your friend," the guy in the sweater snarled.

Adrenaline does weird things to your body. For most people, anticipation of a fight makes them tense and nervous. For me it's a rush. I know I can win. The prospect of avenging Silver and getting our money back just made me feel alive. I grinned, a gleam in my eye.

"Fine by me," I said, and I jumped him.

Fighting three guys takes speed, but I have that. It also takes awareness, but I haven't spent ten years on the streets for nothing. These guys were big, but they were slow. They were lummoxes. My cane and I took care of business. Dodge, weave, hit, dodge, whack, spin, punch, punch, dodge, duck, hit, hit, hit . . . and it was over. I walked calmly over to bowler hat, who was laying on his back, and put my foot on his neck.

"Give me my money," I said coldly. He gagged, but I saw his hands move to his pockets. I motioned Ace over, and he reached into bowler hat's pockets.

"Three dollars," Ace said, counting the money quickly. It was more than had been taken, but I figured the difference was my fee for having to come get it.

"Stay away from my boys. Stay away from my lodging house. Don't mess with Brooklyn, and Brooklyn won't mess with you," I spat at bowler hat. He tried to nod, but my foot at his neck stopped him.

"Yes, sir," he croaked out. I nodded and walked away. My blood was up, I had a bit of extra cash, and I needed to vent some energy.

"See to the boys tonight," I barked at Ace before heading off to find Gina.


	19. Spot8b--Strike!

Things went downhill after that. A few of the younger men at the wharf had heard about the incident with the three guys, and they began to cause trouble. It took me awhile to pin it down, but I realized that this was about me. My reputation had grown after taking down three men at once, so guys would pick on my boys in the hopes of drawing me out; that way they could fight me and hopefully boost their own reputations. It was aggravating because my boys kept getting hurt, and I kept having to fight. The good news was that I was getting better—faster—as was my reputation. But it kept me busy all spring, and I have to say that getting jumped by a gang is no fun. I had started implementing safety systems for my guys, and we had teamed up with the bootblacks, with whom we were finally on better terms, to create a more unified message system as well as to provide some backup. Bootblacks are a bit more accepted by the bulls, so they could always get help if someone was in real trouble. It's a handy system. We also teamed up with all the other street folks and the like in our area. I even had the girls at Ms. Cara's listening for information on planned attacks for us. I knew that things would die down eventually; I only hoped I could hold out and that none of my guys would get hurt. I took the brunt of things on myself, though.

I have to say that I enjoyed having a birthday. I had never had one before. I mean, I obviously got older and all, but many of the guys are like me—they either don't know their birthdays or they don't tell. It's just not something we discuss because nobody cares. Katja cared, though—enough to not just acknowledge but also create a day for me. She even picked one with special meaning to her. I tried to tell myself that she was just being nice, but a part of me felt pretty self-satisfied; she must really like me. No. I squashed that thought. Spot Conlon does not have feelings like that. He's a womanizer, not a one-woman guy. I ruthlessly crushed those feelings. Actually, no I didn't. After all, why else had I asked her father about taking her out, just the two of us?

Katja was so adorable when she gave me my gift. She was shy and a bit offended that I would laugh at her like that. Maybe it wasn't tactful, but I couldn't help it! She just got so flustered and ended up throwing a present at me. Yeah, it definitely didn't help that whole problem with having feelings when she did something so cute.

That summer things changed in the business. The boys and I had a rough go of it when the price for our papes went up. I would have to come up with something; this was too much for many of my younger boys to handle. I was mulling this and a few things I had heard over on a stack of crates at the docks one day in July when the Cowboy showed up. I don't see him often, but he's a good guy—the leader of the East Side boys in Manhattan. He told me about his plans for a strike, something I had already heard about. Word on the street travels fast, and I make it a point to listen and be in the know. Jack's new pal Dave was talking awfully fast trying to get me to commit to the thing. Mouth. I had to think about it, so I played it cool-but Mouth had a brain, and I suspected he was right and that it would work-IF their boys could see it through.

That night I headed over to Manhattan after hearing about Jack's boys' run on the distribution center. Blink was there; he told me about Jack's trip to the refuge to get Crutchy out. That's when I made my decision. If Jack was willing to risk getting caught and sent back to the refuge, he was serious. The fact that Crutchy was there was actually enough. He's the most honest newsie anyone has ever known and did not deserve the refuge. But Jack's actions sealed it. I headed back and gathered the boys to tell them about the strike. It turned out to be a good thing I did.

The next day we were headed over to Manhattan early when we heard from one of my runners that things were going down at the distribution office. I signaled to Red, and we climbed up on the rooftops. I split the guys and we surrounded the office—just in time by the looks of things. The Five Pointers were there to do the dirty work. Thankfully those guys, despite their reputation, had nothing on Brooklyn. We grew up the hard way. The whole thing was over in minutes, and the strike was on.

The whole affair was a tense one. I did enjoy getting to know Denton, though. I didn't tell him much about myself; it never pays to give a newspaper man information, and I didn't trust him. I used him. I learned a bit about the business, and I learned a bit more about college. He was a nice enough guy, and I could see how much of an inspiriation he was to Mouth. He's one of the lucky newsies-he has a family and a future. After all of this, I think it might be in journalism. However, it was the big rally at Irving Hall that cemented my own future.

Jack had been talking for a bit, but the conversation moved toward not soaking the scabs. Dave and I had had this argument several times, but here it was, on display for everyone. I had actually realized already that Dave was right, but I also knew that many of the boys, particularly my own, were itching for a more direct fight. By letting them see that I felt the same way but was still willing to go along with Mouth, they would accept it more readily-so I let Jack and Dave push me a bit on stage, getting a bit worked up and letting things progress until Jack cornered me-actually, he and Mouth were the only ones who knew that the whole thing was a show.

I surveyed the group from the stage; there they were—thousands of newsboys from all over New York, looking at Jack and looking at me. They relied on us. There was Jack, looking to me for a decision. I felt the weight of the world on me for a moment, and my eyes fell on little Roller. I realized that the show I was putting on was important, but it was even more important that we all take this seriously and come out on top. I took a deep but invisible breath, then spoke my part.

"I say that what you say . . . " I paused for dramatic effect, staring down Jack and knowing in that instant that I held the entire strike in my hands " . . . is what I say." I smirked at Jack, and he grinned back. We spit shook on it before enjoying some vaudeville entertainment. This was what we had needed-a sense of unified strength and relaxed fun. The evening was going well when Mouth shook me and said something in my ear.

"It's Snyder. We gotta get Jack out," he said. I nodded and moved off. Mouth moved toward the Cowboy, but I thought about Roller. I headed over to Red.

"Get the youngsters out. Bulls are here," I said before turning to help Mouth. The noise picked up, and the whole situation devolved rapidly. We tried to get Jack out—we really did—but we were vastly overfaced. While we had numbers, most of them were young and small. I helped get a number of little kids and girls out before things were getting desperate. I joined the fray, but I don't remember much. I think I was targeted pretty early, because it wasn't long before I woke up in a jail cell with a number of other newsies, mostly from Manhattan. These guys had certainly put it all out there for Jack—Blink was still out when I awoke, and Racetrack looked a bit rough. They filled me in-well, Snoddy did-Race and Blink had been out before Jack was caught.

I was pleased with two main developments-the first was that most of my own boys had gotten out as far as I could gather-Trug and Fish were in with me, but the rest were nowhere to be seen. The same was true for most of the other boroughs. It also appeared as if most of the younger, more vulnerable boys had gotten out-Snipeshooter and Boots being the noteable exceptions. That told me the boys were devoted to each other as well as their cause. Good. That will make them more likely to stick it out. They had managed to get Dave out somehow, which also told me they were not fools. Good. We had this strike thing in the bag-we just needed to get out of jail.

The next morning we were taken in front of the judge as a group. That snooty, crooked, and awful man barely gave us a glance.

"Are any of you represented by counsel?" he asked, and as most of the boys were still trying to figure out what he meant, my mind was taking a different track. This man wasn't here to listen to us, and we had no options. The only thing left was to take this smug mug down a peg.

"Good, that'll move things along considerably," he said before anyone had answered, and I knew there would be no justice here.

"Your honor, I object," I said, mostly just hoping to get him to look at us. We are human beings, for crying out loud. Snipeshooter can't be twelve yet, and Boots is about the same. Pie Eater is probably the oldest, and even he's only 17. The judge looked at me with a piercing stare that probably intimidated lots of people, but it just annoyed me.

"On what grounds?" he asked, hoping I wouldn't know how to answer. I didn't really, but that wasn't going to stop me. If he was going to make a mockery of our justice system, so was I.

"On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor," I said as if it were obvious. In that moment I knew—I wanted to become a lawyer so that newsies and others like us would always have "counsel." The boys all laughed, and I decided that I would enjoy the game while I could. Why not have fun with the man since we weren't going to get anything else out of the deal? Before I could stop the snickering, though, the judge had passed his sentence. Five bucks? What newsboy had that? Well, I did, but I wasn't about to say it—or pay it to this crooked windbag.

Racetrack was quick; I always liked his wit and sarcasm. He offered to roll the judge for it. That was pretty funny. We were about to be shuffled off when that newspaper man Denton came and paid our fines.

As soon as I was released I headed over to Brooklyn to check on the boys. Red had done a good job—only the two other Brooklynites had been arrested with me, and nobody was seriously hurt. I did, however, have to dig out some of my cash. I had depleted the jar, and I took as equitably as I could from each boy's sock to cover lodging for those who needed it—our younger boys, those who were not healthy, and those doing a lot of picketing. A bunch of us slept on the streets, and I was mostly staying in Manhattan with the other strike leaders. Food was a bigger problem, because all of the boys had to eat, including the ones like Red who slept on the streets for a few days until the lodging house waived its fee. I know several of the older boys kicked down some cash, and we had collected some donations, but most of it had to come from me. I had two hundred newsies. While many of them lived with families and were at least able to eat something, a lot of the boys had nothing. It pained me to dig into that fund, but what else could I do? Not a one of my boys went hungry (though I did!), and I am proud of that—it wasn't the case in the other boroughs. Everybody got at least one large meal a day, even if the lodging and food for my Brooklyn boys did cost me $35. Yes, that's right—the average monthly wage for a working American and more than most newsies see in a lifetime. I was just glad I had it. The rest of the boys combined for $15, a large portion of which came from Red, who like me was careful with his cash and had some savings. He was stoic about it, though.

Those two weeks were rough, but the result led to perhaps one of the most fortuitous events of my life. After the demonstration at the plaza, Governor Roosevelt showed up and gave me a ride back to Brooklyn. I got to spend 30 minutes in a carriage with Governor Theodore Roosevelt, and I was definitely going to take advantage of it!

"Well, young man, you seem to have quite a reputation," the governor said.

"I lead the Brooklyn newsies—the toughest group there is," I said evasively. He grinned at that.

"You are going places, I think. Have you thought about your future beyond newspapers?" he asked, and this time I grinned.

"I am planning to go to college. I'm saving now, but it may take me awhile. I want to be a lawyer."

The governor chuckled. "I take it your recent brush with the law influenced that decision," he said, and I couldn't help but smirk.

"Yeah," I said.

"You are tough. We need more tough people in high places," he replied. I thought about that. Denton had told me Roosevelt was tough; they had known each other down in Cuba.

"Yes, sir," I said. Then the conversation turned to pure gold. Roosevelt told me about a lawyer in Brooklyn—a friend of his—named Donovan.

"I'll have you begin to study with him. You can learn about the field before heading to college. It might help," he said.

I couldn't thank the man enough. I don't normally have a lot of patience for the high society types, but Governor Roosevelt was different. He told me about some of his hunting adventures out west, and he made me promise to send him a letter every month about the affairs of the street rats of New York.

"I want to know the truth about what's really going on in my state and city," he said. "You can help make sure nobody pulls the wool over my eyes again." I promised I would do that.

My return to the lodging house was strange. None of the boys were there yet, having to walk from the rally, and I had a lot on my mind. I spent several hours on the roof. None of the boys even knew I was there. I lay there thinking for hours; I had a lot to consider going forward.


	20. Katja9--Attack

The summer was rough. There was a huge disruption to our lives as Spot and his boys went on strike. We didn't see much of them, and from the sound of things, it got a bit hairy. Spot was even arrested, along with numerous boys from the East Side newsboys. He came back with a bigger smirk and a darker look than ever, but that dark look never stuck with him for long. I wanted to ask him about the whole thing, but Papa said it was best to let him tell me about it in his own time and way. He told me a bit-mostly we talked about why they joined in, what they fought for, and about how the police came in and broke up a rally. That was when he got arrested. I got the feeling that there were some things he left out about the whole arrest thing, and I heard there were some fights. Knowing Spot, he was probably in them, but he didn't say anything about that part.

It was a late summer evening when things changed and a bit of my innocence disappeared. Jimmy had indicated that he needed to out, and I called to Papa as I headed outside. While I don't generally go out for long walks that late at night, I do need to take Jimmy out, and he was getting big enough that his presence was protection enough, especially since I don't go far. The night was cooler, with the promise of autumn on it even as the day's stifling heat had not yet dissipated. I rounded the corner and headed out into the twilight when a man blocked my path.

"Excuse me," I said shyly, trying to move around the man to the empty street. I knew this looking down habit was to blame for my almost running into him.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're excused," he said, and I blushed. He stepped back in front of me. "What's the rush, doll?"

"I was just walking my dog," I mumbled, trying to get around him again. He grabbed my waist, and suddenly I realized he wasn't alone. Two more men had walked up behind him while I'd been looking at the sidewalk, and I found myself being pulled into the alley between the buildings.

"Let me go," I said, but my voice was shaking so badly that there was no power behind the words. Jimmy, however, was barking madly—his puppy yip sounded feeble in comparison to the rough laughter of the man holding onto me. Jimmy jumped forward with a puppy growl. One of the other two men suddenly grabbed a pallet of wood from the alley and swung it at Jimmy, who rolled sideways into the street. He yelped in fear and pain, and I began struggling against the iron grip on my waist and the hand that had now clamped over my mouth, trying to get to my dog. The third man laughed as he reached out and ran his hand from my shoulder down the front of my body to my waist, and my fear morphed into absolute terror as I realized their intention.

Suddenly there was a steely voice nearby that I had heard once before. "Let her go," Spot said calmly, and I saw him climbing down the fire escape from a nearby rooftop. My relief at his voice was momentary as I realized that Spot was alone. There were three of them. I struggled through the fog of fear as Spot continued, "I told you to stop."

"Oh, and who's askin'?" one of the men sneered.

"Spot Conlon" came the growled response.

The three men glanced at one another. "Always figured you would be a bit bigger," the spokesman spat back, glaring. Spot just shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the three men. There was an almost eager gleam in them. He looked like a bird of prey sizing up a rabbit except for the smirk on his lips. And before I could think why Spot was smirking, the man let go of me, and all three men jumped Spot.

I should rephrase that. They tried to jump him. Spot simply dodged them. I had never seen anything so graceful, so fast, and so terrifying. He landed blows on each of them before taking a single hit, and one man was completely unconscious before the second fist made contact with him. Within three minutes the whole thing was over, and Spot had crossed over to me. I just stood there shaking as he reached out a tentative hand toward my arm.

"Cat," he said, and I collapsed into him. He just stood there, holding me while I cried into his chest. After a minute or two I calmed down and he released me, searched my face, and, apparently satisfied that I was okay, took a step back, nodding. It was only when he picked them up off the fire escape that I realized he had never used his cane or his slingshot. They would have simply been in the way. I gasped for breath as my fear and awe overwhelmed me. Jimmy, who had picked himself up, was limping toward me, whimpering.

"Good boy," I whispered, stooping to hug the dog gingerly. He licked my face.

"What are you doing out here? You—" The anger in his voice threw me off balance. Spot had never spoken to me like that, and I had heard that tone so rarely that it made my breath catch, and the tears I had just managed to stop began to flow again. Jimmy was instantly on high alert at my tension, and he whined in confusion as his face moved from mine to Spot's and back. Spot took a deep breath, then pulled me gently to my feet. "Sorry," he said. "Let's get you both home."

Spot's jaw was set, his body tense, and his eyes roaming the streets as we headed back home.

"How did you know where I—" I said tremulously.

"It's my job to know," he interrupted. "Cat, you scared the bejeezus out of me. What are you doing out?" His voice was no longer angry, but he was clearly still frustrated.

"Those men—they were going to—if you hadn't—I didn't mean to-" I stammered. My mind was still racing. How could men be so cruel? What had I done wrong? Why would they do such a thing? What would have happened if Spot hadn't been there? My mind was going so fast that I didn't realize Spot was speaking to me again until he grabbed both of my hands in his, pulled me in front of him, and gave a little shake. I stopped and tried to look at him, but all of a sudden he pulled me into another hug. After a few moments my breathing settled, and Spot pulled away, looked me in the eye, and stepped back, nodding to himself again, though he kept my hands clasped in his.

"Easy, Katja. It's okay. Nothing happened."

"How can people do something like that? Did I do something to those men? Why would they come after me? Oh my gosh, are you hurt?" The questions tumbled out before I had any control over them.

Spot chuckled in spite of himself, but his tone remained serious. "Nah, I ain't hurt. This was an easy one. Those guys just didn't like being interrupted in their game. And no, you didn't do anything wrong." Here he looked back at me earnestly, and his eyes remained hard, even if his voice was soft. "Some people are just bad, and sometimes bad things happen to good people. I'm just glad that I was able to be here this time. But Cat, ya gotta understand that I can't always be there. Ya can't just go out at night. Have yer pa take Jimmy out, at least until he's fully grown. Now c'mon. Let's get you home. We both need our rest."

A game? I was a game to them? That, more than anything, was what stuck with me that night and kept me on edge.

In later years I would wonder how Spot managed to be there that night. But my mind was too busy that night, and somehow I never worked up the courage to ask.

I headed inside, but not before Spot pulled me into another hug and whispered "good night" into my hair.


	21. Spot9--Rescue

Jeez, was she trying to kill me?

It was just a few weeks after the strike, and my mind was still whirring like crazy. I actually decided to spend a few days in Manhattan talking with the Cowboy and the Mouth. Especially Mouth, actually; Jack was right about his having brains. I can't talk openly in Brooklyn except maybe with Red, and even that is hard. I couldn't seem to settle my mind, though I had started sending regular letters to the governor's office. I have no idea if he read them, but I had decided I would send them faithfully regardless. I figured Jack and Dave could help me write regular reports since they had different perspectives on the city.

"Well, you can't stay a newsie forever," Mouth said philosophically as I told them about my conversation with the governor. Jack grinned.

"Nah, but you got boys to look after here. I guess we'se both stuck, huh?"

"Nah, not stuck—here by choice. Then again, I never had dreams leavin' the city," I responded.

"The way I see it, Spot, you can start workin' toward respectability now, or you can accept that most of us are going to work in factories or as manual laborers. I'm choosing both. I can live with that future as long as I got my family, and for that I need respectability—now that I got a respectable goil an' all," Jack said, winking at Mouth.

"So no more dreams of Santa Fe?" I asked him, smirking.

"Sure, I dream about it—but I also ain't gonna go chasin' something that might be and give away something that's right in front of me. If I do go, it'll be because I got nothin' left here or because I got someone comin' with me," he said, and I nodded.

"I can respect that," I said, smiling at both boys. "So I need to be respectable, huh? I guess I can do that. But I don't want neither of you boys tellin' anybody. I do still have a reputation to maintain, and after last spring and all, I don't need word gettin' around that I'se soft."

"You got it, Spot," Jack laughed, and we shook on it.

After our chat I headed over to Ms. Mina's, the Manhattan whorehouse. I guess if I needed to begin a life of respectability, I would need to stay away from Ms. Cara's in Brooklyn. Besides, Minnie, one of the girls here, was pretty easy on the eyes, a great lay, and fun to be around. She was also discreet. I spent some time there, made arrangements with Minnie for a future date, and headed home.

It was later than I'd planned, so I opted to cut across the rooftops. If you know where you're going, that can be a great way to get somewhere quickly, especially late in the evening. Cutting diagonally across a building can save you going around, and ultimately you can cut off quite a distance that way. I kept my ears open, though. It never pays to let your guard down. I heard a puppy yipping. Ordinarily I ignore dogs barking, but this one was in pain, and it was nearby. I looked into the nearby alley, where scuffling noises had caught my attention. There was a girl struggling against three drunks—rather ineffectually, might I add. I saw a familiar dog limping back toward the alley. Jimmy. Katja. What was she doing out here? She was going to get hurt!

"Let her go," I said, steeling myself for a fight even as I climbed down the fire escape. I kept my eyes on the three men as I climbed and realized that they were slightly drunk. I could see this was going to be an easy one, so when I reached the end of the fire escape I set my cane and slingshot aside; they would only be in the way. I noticed that ugly dude hadn't let go of Katja. Oh, dude, you're in trouble, I thought to myself as I said aloud, "I told you to stop."

"Oh, and who's askin'?" another one of the guys asked with some belligerence. I guess he thought he sounded intimidating or something.

"Spot Conlon," I said in a low voice. Yep, I got a reaction. They looked at each other, and I could practically smell their fear.

"Always figured you would be a bit bigger," ugly dude spat, but I recognized the bravado for what it was—an act. C'mon, buddy—bring it on. If size were the only factor, I wouldn't be where I am in life. I was angry, though. I kept watching the three guys. They were drunk and stupid enough that they thought they could all jump me at once to try and catch me off guard. I saw it coming; this wasn't my first rodeo.

It was over pretty quickly. I know taking on three at once sounds impressive, but in this case it really wasn't. They were not fighters, and they were impaired by the alcohol. It was never a contest. All three were unconscious pretty quickly, so I stepped over to Katja, who was still standing there with her back against the brick wall. Poor girl had this terrified look on her face, and she was shaking. Actually, so was I. Adrenaline was still coursing through my system from the physical exertion of the fight.

"Cat," I said, reaching out to her. She fell into me, crying. She'd gotten quite a fright, so it was only natural that she was shaking. I just let her cry and held her close. Jeez, she scared me. I was way more terrified by the thought of something happening to her than I was of fighting off these three bums. Once she calmed down I pulled her away to look at her. She seemed no worse for wear; looks like I had gotten there in time to save her from anything more than a fright. I grabbed my cane and slingshot as she knelt to check her limping dog.

"What are you doing out here? You—" I stopped as I realized that in my frustration I had spoken harshly. I must be all kinds of stupid and insensitive; Katja had had what was probably the biggest scare of her life and instead of being helpful I go and growl at her. Way to go, dumbass. I took a deep breath to steady my voice. "Sorry," I said. "Let's get you both home."

We headed out, and as we did I saw a flash of acknowledgement on a nearby rooftop. Greasefoot. I knew I had guys nearby; I always did. It was their job to keep me informed—of local activities, shady dealings, and goings on. It's how I knew what the gangs were up to, where the illegal cockfighting crowd operated, and general thug actions. I had no doubt that Greasefoot would have alerted the boys and intervened had I not beaten him to it; while we don't take kindly to guys beating on women, this rule is especially true for ones we know and like. I knew that the boys kept an extra eye on Katja and her father.

"How did you know where I-" Katja said. Her voice was still shaking.

"It's my job to know," I said. No way I was going to tell her she got lucky that I had taken longer with Minnie than planned. I changed the subject. "Cat, you scared the bejeezus out of me. What are you doing out?"

"Those men—they were going to—if you hadn't—I didn't mean to—" she said, and I could tell the reality of what had happened was only hitting her now. I grabbed her hands and gave her a little shake, trying to bring her focus on me. She stopped talking, but her eyes were still darting around every which way. I pulled her back into my arms. God, that felt good—I didn't want to let her go, especially in light of what had happened. I wanted to keep her safe in my arms. Damn. She was settling down, so I reluctantly pulled away again. I did keep her hands in mine as I looked her over once more.

"It's okay. Nothing happened," I tried to reassure her.

"How can people do something like that? Did I do something to those men? Why would they come after me? Oh my gosh, are you hurt?" Her sudden switch in focus caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of those drunks hurting me after all the events of the last few months.

"Nah, I ain't hurt. This was an easy one. Those guys just didn't like being interrupted in their game," I said. Then the rest of her statement penetrated my mind. Did she think this was HER fault? I guess my frustration earlier didn't help that impression, did it? I needed to make sure she understood that she was not to blame for the evil actions of a few drunks. "And no, you didn't do anything wrong. Some people are just bad, and sometimes bad things happen to good people. I'm just glad I was able to be here this time." I looked her in the eyes. She needed to understand that. She also needed to know why her being out was such a problem, so I continued, "But Cat, ya gotta understand that I can't always be there. Ya can't just go out at night. Have yer pa take Jimmy out, at least until he's fully grown. Now c'mon. Let's get you home. We both need our rest." Boy, was that ever true.

We headed down the road, but I kept one hand holding hers. I think just needed to reassure myself that she was actually okay by keeping her close and keeping that physical contact. I took the liberty of pulling her close for one more hug before wishing her a good night, but I think that was more for me than for her.


	22. Katja10--Spot's Turf

A week later Spot showed up at my work as I was leaving. This was so unusual that I jumped when he walked up to me. I've been jumpy a lot recently, I thought absently to myself as I greeted him.

"Cat, you been nervous since last week," Spot said, giving voice to what I didn't want to acknowledge—that the incident had shaken me badly. "I want to show you why you can relax. Come with me. I told yer pa you would be with me today," he added.

I followed him trustingly, and we headed down to the docks. I had been near here, but I had never really had a reason to spend time in this area. It was a bit rougher than the neighborhood where I lived. The buildings were the same, but the people looked bigger, dirtier, and scarier. The language was cruder, the smells stronger, and the atmosphere bawdier. I wasn't entirely sure I felt safe until I looked over and saw Spot. He had that glint in his eye that I was coming to recognize, and it didn't take long to realize that even some of the big sailors were wary of him. I remembered how quickly he had moved in the fight the other night, and I vaguely wondered how he could have gotten the obvious bruises last spring if he could best three men with not a mark on him. Someone wolf-whistled near me, but Spot's head snapped around and the whistle cut off as if his eyes had somehow intercepted the sound mid-note. We headed over to a wooden pier where people were jumping and swimming. It took me a moment to realize that these were the newsboys. Ace, Red, Squish, Roller, Greasefoot . . . they were almost all there. They called out greetings to Spot, and I realized how many of them they were—and how big they were! Red was small compared to many of them! Even the physically smaller ones somehow radiated toughness and confidence, and all of them deferred to Spot.

"Cat, these are most of the newsies of Brooklyn." Spot said as we settled down on a crate. I was in awe of the size of the group. There must have been a hundred or more boys. "They operate all over the borough. They know the people, the places, and the goings on of Brooklyn, and they report to me." I turned to look at Spot with new eyes. I knew he was the leader, and I knew he was a fighter, but for the first time I realized a bit of what that entailed. He was responsible for all of these boys? One younger boy of perhaps nine ran up to him, dripping water everywhere; he had obviously been swimming.

"Guess what, Spot!" he said, his excitement causing him to seem to want to come out of his skin. "I sold 35 papes today! I have a penny for the pot!"

Spot ruffled the kid's hair. "That's great, Legs. But you keep that penny for now, okay? Put a penny in next time, but start your savings."

"Yes, sir," the kid said, but then he frowned. "But how do Ise give back to da newsies if I can't put a penny in the pot?"

"Ya go to yer lessons. Ya save up and go to medical school, and ya come back and treat newsboys when they's hurt. Ya got that?"

"These boys," Spot said to me as Legs saluted him and jumped back into the water, "have my back. And they will do anything I ask and more. And because we're friends, they got your back, too. I didn't tell 'em to keep an eye on you, but they do. And Ingrid and yer pa, too." He paused. "Word of what happened made it around. Those goons won't be botherin' you or anyone else, and I would be shocked to see anyone else try it. I wanted you to know that. I want you to know that you are as safe as anybody can be in Brooklyn."

And suddenly I understood. Spot was the leader because he could fight, but he was a good leader because he cared. These boys would do anything he asked and more because they loved him—and he loved them. I had seen that during the strike, but now I wondered at the extent of it. They would really protect me—and Ingrid and Papa—just because we were friends?

"But that don't mean," Spot continued, and my mind snapped back to the present, "that we can protect you from everything. You still gotta take care of yourself. Don't take foolish chances. But you don't need to be so jumpy all the time. We're here. Anything happens, ever, and you just make sure the nearest newsie knows. We'll take it from there."

I nodded, and a weight I didn't know I had been carrying suddenly dropped away. Given the way Spot was looking at me in that moment, I am pretty sure he saw it. After a few minutes of companionable silence, my natural curiosity took over.

"Spot, how did you guys survive the strike? It seems like money is pretty tight for newsboys."

"It is. But the Lodging House waived its fee for the duration, so none of the boys had to pay for a bed. Other services were suspended, though. We had no laundry, no warm water, no lessons, and no kitchen for that time. We did our own cleaning—put the younger boys on that so they wouldn't get hurt when we was dealin' with the scabs," he answered.

"And food?" I pressed. "I know you couldn't have afforded to eat properly during that time."

"None of my boys went hungry. Everyone got at least one warm meal a day. Most of us got savings, you know," Spot said, waving a hand vaguely.

"How much did you spend?" I asked quietly.

"Fifty dollars," he responded, and I let out a whooshing breath. That was a LOT of money. More than many people made in a month, and certainly more than most newsies were able to earn in many months. I knew he had savings, but I had no idea it was that much!

"That's a lot," I whispered, touching his arm in sympathy. He grinned at me.

"We had it," he shrugged, "and boys need to eat. Some of it came out of other funds, so it wasn't all mine. Red and some of the other boys with savings pitched in. The boys had to eat."

"And you? Did you eat?" I asked, sensing that the answer was no.

"I didn't starve," he shrugged. I let it go, but I guessed that most of the money had been his.

"How much money can a newsboy save?" I asked, genuinely curious now about the expenses a newsboy incurred.

"The papes come in bundles of ten," he explained, "and I make all the boys who don't have families start at thirty. That costs 18 cents for us, and if we sell them all it's 30 cents. We save 18 for the next day's papes, and we have 12 left. A night at the lodgin' house is 6 cents, and a meal is the same. So if ya sell 30, ya get a night indoors and a warm meal and can still sell the next day. Boys that have a place to stay and eat can get away with selling less, and I tell all me boys to aim for forty out of the gate.. Most won't do that, but within a few weeks they can usually get to 35 or 40—like that new kid Legs ya just met. They also go to the local soup kitchen sometimes and the bakery nearby sells bread for a few cents, and there is an apple cart down the road most days. We eat well enough. Part of the pot goes to bags of potatoes and flour and the like for additional meals for everyone as needed. I like to see all me boys selling around 70 a day. That's 28 cents per day profit, and we can live offa dat pretty good. Once ya get to 40 three days in a row, a penny in the jar is the expectation. Ya can give more, but I teach all the boys to save what they can. They spend a bit on poker or other things, of course, but most of me boys save a nickel a week by the time they's been at it a few months. The new boys can get some money outta da jar to cover food until they gets the hang of things or to buy their first papes. When the weather is nice, a bunch of em sleep outside."

I was impressed with the system—and with the fortitude of the boys.

"And how many do you sell?" I asked.

"Most days 250. More when the headline is good," he shrugged.

"So you make $2.50 a day and spend $1.50 for your papes. And the rest?" I pried.

"I spend about 30 cents a day on food and sometimes lodging. Sometimes a bit more. I put money in the jar. So I often save 40-50 cents a day. More before the strike when da price was lower. The price stayed up after the strike, but they buy back unsold papes now. Helps most of the boys take a few more risks, and they usually sell more."

"But you always sold all your papes, so the new system doesn't help you," I observed, trying to digest what he'd said. Forty cents a day? I barely earned that, and Papa and I didn't save that much!

Spot shrugged again. "I can handle it. My boys can't."

"So you take care of them." It was a statement.

"I'm the leader," he said simply. "And really it's the lodging house that takes care of us. They provide the meals and the schoolin' an' all."

"Do you attend the school?" I asked, curious. Spot had never really mentioned school.

"Nah, I finished," he said.

"You graduated?"

"Sure, you could call it that. I learned all they had to offer. I also got busy running things at the lodging house, helping keep order and things."

"I thought you said—"

"Mrs. Kirby is getting old. She runs things, but really she lets me run them. The rules are much looser now. My rules and all. But the boys have schooling, food, and the place is clean. We have curfew and rules about fighting. We do allow girls inside now, though." He winked at me, and I think I may have blushed.

"There are girl newsies?" I asked, looking around at the newsies on the docks curiously.

"There's a few, but they don't stay at the lodging house. Most of 'em got families, and there's a girls' house down the way that's mostly for factory girls. Two of my girls stay there. They can come over and visit now, though." He smiled and winked at me again. "Goldie likes to take the boys' money at poker," he said, and I smiled at the thought of the tough boys here losing to a girl. I said as much.

"Goldie's no lady," Spot snorted. "She's a street rat like the rest of us. But she's a hell of a poker player. Come on, Darlin'. We'd best get you home and then go see yer pa."

AN: The Lodging House did indeed cost 6 cents/night (more for private rooms, but I am taking some license here) and offered dinner for 6 cents. Mrs. Kirby is real, and she was ailing around this time. The LH also ran a school and had other such services. Apples cost about 3 cents, while a pound of bread cost 5. Newspapers were sold in bundles of 100. It was fun reading about the real LH and trying to balance creative license, movie cannon, and real history. This license will appear throughout. However, the math is correct-if Spot has a profit of a dollar a day, he could conceivably save half of that.


	23. Spot10--Reassurance

The day after the incident with the three goons I had a chat with Mr. Fischer. I had actually tracked him down early so that I could talk to him before Katja arrived.

"Did Katja tell you what happened last night?" I asked him as I hitched a ride in his carriage over to our bench.

"She mentioned that some men had frightened her, but that you came and escorted her home," he said. "I sense that it was a bit more than that, yes?" I nodded. "Then I am in your debt, Herr Conlon," he said.

"No, sir," I said firmly. "You and your daughter have been kinder to me and to my boys than anyone has ever been. It's an honor for all of them to return the favor, and that is especially true for me. You've both been like the family I haven't had," I said honestly. No way was that man ever going to be in my debt.

"Ah, we come to the heart of the matter. You and Katja, yes?" he said, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

"No!" I blurted out too quickly, then realized how my protest sounded even to myself. "I mean, yes. Maybe. I don't know," I said. Boy, if anyone but Mr. Fischer had heard that, I am pretty sure I would have soaked them within an inch of their lives out of sheer embarrassment. I took a breath and gathered myself.

"I really like your daughter. But I don't think she sees me that way. Honestly, that's okay because even if she did, she's awfully young. She needs a lot more time to grow up before she even knows what she wants. Heck, I'm not sure I know what I want. For now I can just be her friend," I said. I hoped that was good enough—after all, this was the man's daughter we were talking about!

"Spot, you understand my daughter better than she understands herself, I think. You respect her and treat her well. I am grateful every day for your friendship to her. You have become like a son to me as well. It is a wonderful act from God to put your selling spot right where we had lunch every day for so long, I think. You are good for the Fischer family. But you are also much older than your years, young Spot. It is that which makes me worried for you," Mr. Fischer said.

Wait, did he just give me leave to date his daughter? I think he did. But now is not the time—I wanted to speak to him about last night, not talk about a future with a girl who probably doesn't notice that I am a guy and certainly is immune to any seductive charms I may have.

"Maybe," I responded. "The streets are tough, and we have to be tough with them. It pays to be able to fight. Like last night," I added.

"Yes, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am. I know better than Katja what could have happened. She does not understand. I am, in spite of your protests, in your debt," he said, sighing. "But you are not so tough as you would like to think, young man. I have seen that you are also full of compassion and goodness. It is this which I think Katja sees in you. Be patient, young Spot, and I think Katja may one day realize that you are the kind of man she needs. Maybe then you will actually be my son, ja?" he smiled at the thought. I realized that this man was more perceptive than even I had given him credit for. It never occurred to me at the time that perhaps my own vulnerability with him might have contributed to the fact that he was the only person in the world who could read me like a book. I just marveled that such wisdom and such naïve innocence could share blood and live under one roof.

In the days that followed that conversation, I noticed how jumpy Katja had become. Clearly the events of that night had frightened the wits out of her. It killed me to think that she could be so frightened. I arranged with her father to set her at ease. I picked her up from work and took her down to the docks. I knew she'd never been down here and that the area would probably be intimidating, but I didn't care. I needed her to understand. Besides, being seen with me would only help keep people away from her—nobody messes with what's mine, and even though I didn't see Katja as a possession, the boys didn't know that! I heard a dock worker wolf-whistle, and I turned to glare at him. The man saw me and instantly ducked his head; I don't think he had recognized me before he whistled. Good. Now he knew that I wouldn't tolerate any of that, and so did everyone who was nearby.

As we reached the swimming spot, the boys started calling out greetings. I watched Silver messing around with a few of the younger guys and saw that he was giving some veiled fighting instruction. Good. We don't actually teach fighting formally here, but I like my guys to know how to take care of themselves. The system works pretty well—my boys are good fighters. Some of the bigger boys were wresting at the end of the pier, trying to throw each other in. I saw Katja's eyes widen at the sight of the three big boys, shirtless and wet, grappling with obvious skill. Good. That's what' I'd wanted her to see.

"Cat, these are most of the newsies of Brooklyn," I said as we settled down on a crate. "They operate all over the borough. They know the people, the places, and the goings on of Brooklyn, and they report to me." I stopped to chat as Legs came up, eager to tell me about his day. The kid was new, but he was a fast learner. I saw a lot of potential in him, and he was eager to contribute to the group. I sent him off, then turned back to Katja.

"These boys have my back. They will do anything I ask and more. And because we're friends they got your back, too. I didn't tell 'em to keep an eye on you, but they do. And Ingrid and yer pa, too." I explained. "Word of what happened made it around. Those goons won't be botherin' you or anyone else, and I would be shocked to see anyone else try it. I wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know that you are as safe as anybody can be in Brooklyn."

I looked intently at her, and I saw the light that had been missing the last few days return. She looked relieved, and a small part of me was, too. I needed her to trust that she would be okay; I needed her to understand.

"But that don't mean that we can protect you from everything. You still gotta take care of yourself. Don't take foolish chances. But you don't need to be so jumpy all the time. We're here. Anything happens, ever, and you just make sure the nearest newsie knows. We'll take it from there," I added. I wanted her to feel safe, but not foolhardy! I saw her acceptance, and I turned back to watch the wrestling match on the dock.

We chatted a bit more, this time about money. I explained my savings system. I had been saving for five years, and I had squirreled away quite a bit over that time. While I saved 50¢ per day on average, I also dipped into that sock on occasion for splurges, so it really averaged out to 40¢ per day at about 350 days a year. The rest were sick days, slow days, days off, etc. I had been saving that aggressively for three years now, and it was paying off. I didn't tell Katja that, though. I just explained the system, then walked her home. She felt safe, and that had been my primary goal.


	24. Spot 10b--Feelings

The weather became colder. I watched in concern as Mr. Fischer's horse grew weaker, but Katja's ministering hands seemed to keep the beast alive and working. She really was good with animals. The dog, too, was becoming well trained. I was also pleased to see the animal's protective instincts. The incident over the summer had caused him to stick close to Katja and to be suspicious of anyone he didn't know who came near her. He was almost a year old now, and sixty pounds of furry energy and fluff and play—around me. The first time Squish came by, though, he nearly lost an arm when he came up too close to the carriage where Katja was working. I was glad to see it, even if it did take awhile to calm the beast that day—and Squish, for that matter. It was funny to see such a big guy so cowed by a dog that really was sweet most of the time.

Katja and I had grown closer, but I saw nothing progressing on a romantic front. It was frustrating. I needed a distraction. It wasn't hard to find. The boys were always getting to know some of the factory girls around, and for some reason they all wanted a piece of me. I have always been able to charm girls, but that fall I turned it into an art form. I made it a game to see how many ways I could attract a girl and how far I could push one before she'd get irritated or frustrated by me. I have to say that the entertainment enhanced my understanding of women and my reputation, even if I did make it a point never to deliberately hurt a girl seriously. I also never took them to bed, though my boys didn't know that. Mostly I just let them down. When things got to be too much I would go visit Minnie or maybe one of the other girls at Ms. Mina's in Manhattan—usually Emma or Pearl. Emma was a strong gal, and I liked that in her. Those girls were tough, and there were never any games with them; everything was purely professionals. I appreciated that. I could be friends with them when I wasn't paying them, unlike the endless string of factory girls the boys brought around.

All of that was great, but I was becoming increasingly aware that it was a sham; none of these girls could replace the one I actually wanted. Katja. I was really falling for her, and she was as oblivious as ever. Her absolute goodness in spite of anything she saw, her steadfast faith that everyone was good, and her insistence that all people deserved her very best were intoxicating. Nobody smiled as sweetly as she did. Nobody took genuine delight in a happy moment or a minor achievement the way she did. I couldn't be cynical around her; she wouldn't let me. It drove me crazy, but I wouldn't have it any other way. She just brought out the best in me, and she was the only girl with whom I felt that I was not worthy of her attention. Yet she gave it so willingly; she seemed to enjoy spending time with me, even if that's as far as it went. I wondered what it would be like to be her first kiss . . . or her first . . . okay, don't go down that road. She was not even sixteen and barely even aware that boys existed at all.

Actually, that wasn't true. Over the course of the fall I saw her change. She was probably not quite aware of it herself, but I sensed it. She was maturing. But did she have romantic feelings for me? I doubted it. No, she wasn't ready yet. But almost.


	25. Katja11--Christmas 1899

The next few months passed quickly. We celebrated Pa's birthday in late September, then mine in November. While I won't say I had never been happier, I will say that I was happy. I completed my schooling, spent time with Papa and Ingrid and the boys, and even heard regularly from Hazel. We spent our second Christmas Eve without Mama quietly—just Papa and me. It was nice, even if we did miss her.

Christmas Day was beautiful. Snow in the city is generally ugly; it turns brown and dirty in a matter of hours. It slows down business for Papa, the newsboys, and so many other people. However, while it is falling it is really lovely. That year was one of those lucky years where the fresh snow coincided with Christmas Day. Papa had gone to the livery to look in on Maus, who still needed to eat on Christmas when the livery boys had off, and I was just about to head out with Jimmy and was grabbing my cloak when there was a knock at our door. There stood Spot, an impish grin on his face.

"Spot! Merry Christmas," I said in surprise, a grin cracking my own face. He had said he planned to spend the day at the lodging house making sure his boys weren't too lonely. I knew that the lodging houses generally had big holiday feasts that were free, but that the boys could sometimes miss their families-especially boys like Roller, who had been orphaned over the summer. The boys tended to stick together, and Spot's visit the prior year had been an anomaly. We'd already given him his gift—new winter boots. It took us awhile to save up for them, but he'd never had new shoes, so the surprise and delight on his face had been worth it. He had paid the livery fees for Maus for the month of January for us, which allowed us to contribute a bit more money to our next horse fund.

"Merry Christmas, Cat. I can't stay long, but I thought maybe we could go for a walk in the new snow," he said.

"I was just about to head out," I responded. We set off in the snow, Jimmy trotting ahead. He never strayed far; he's too smart and well trained for that. We spoke about the feast the boys had enjoyed and the gifts of new clothes from the various aid societies that the boys had received. I expressed my concern about Maus and the fact that we had barely paid off our debts and were not yet able to buy a new horse. I shared the latest from Hazel's letter, and Spot informed me that Red was thinking of taking a job as a sailor on one of the merchant vessels. He was starting to plan for the following spring or summer. I was excited for him, and it made me wonder what Red's real name was. Spot laughed.

"I don't figure he tells many people, but it's Michael," he said. "Don't tell him I told you." He winked, and I laughed.

"What about you?" I asked, surprised that I had never wondered about it before. He was just Spot to me.

"It's Tommy. Thomas Conlon. A good Irish name. But ain't nobody who knows that except you, so don't you be telling people!" He wagged a finger in my face. "I've been Spot since I sold me first pape and claimed the spot was magic. I always went back to my magic spot. I was so little, and the boys laughed about my obsession with it, so they called me Magic Spot-and that became Spot. Before that I was just the kid. Nobody around now who remembers anything else."

I laughed at this explanation. We were near our normal afternoon bench by now. "Where was this magic spot?" I asked, curious if he still sometimes sold there.

"Right here," he laughed and grabbed my hand, turning me toward him.

"Right where we met is your magic spot?" I asked, surprised.

"In more ways than one," he answered, looking intently at me. I was suddenly acutely aware of how close he was and the warmth of his hand on mine. Why was my stomach suddenly flip-flopping? When had this happened? I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Spot was creating weird feelings in me when he leaned in and kissed me. I don't think I moved at all—I was too surprised by the light contact of his lips on mine. He pulled back a bit and just looked at me. I think I was blushing, but I couldn't help but give him a small smile. He smiled back before bringing his hand up to my face and kissing me again, this time a bit slower. This time, I know I reacted. I didn't know what I was doing, but it was pleasant!

After a few moments Spot pulled back again and, still holding on to one of my hands, turned me toward home. He started talking again, this time about a boy who had showed up last week wanting a job. I fell back into the easy conversation, and we carried on all the way home. Once we got there, Spot gave me another soft kiss.

"See ya later," he said as he headed back out into the cold.


	26. Spot11--First Kiss

I had hoped to spend Christmas with the Fischers, but it was obvious the boys needed me. Legs and Roller in particular were having a rough time—both had been orphaned earlier that year, and Christmas in Legs's family had apparently been a huge deal. It was obvious the boy idolized me, something I try to avoid for precisely this reason. He had begged me to do something for Christmas, and the boys were desperate for some attention. Perhaps it is a bit unreasonable, but I am a bit of a father figure for most of the guys. Besides, some of the guys from the other boroughs were headed over for a big bash. It should be fun; we haven't had a multi-borough get-together in ages, and since we had all grown closer since the strike it was a good time to see friends. I actually was looking forward to it. It was going to be especially fun given that we didn't have to work Christmas Day; we could start the party Christmas Eve and go all day Christmas Day.

Things were actually pretty roaring Christmas Eve. The lodging house usually has a big party, this year funded by the newspaper moguls—one of the perks since the strike. We had lots of hot food, and since we didn't have a proper caretaker the alcohol flowed freely—one of the reasons we had chosen Brooklyn as host. I was pretty busy arranging space, card tables, sleeping space, and the works; Cowboy took care of the company, bringing a few girls from Ms. Mina's, Ms. Cara's, and a few other places, while Two-Toe from the Bronx handled most of the alcohol. The Queens gang arranged some things for the younger kids—games and the like. We tried to keep it small—we really did. It was supposed to be a handful from each of the boroughs, but somehow it turned into a HUGE party with four hundred newsies. The lodging house normally sleeps about 250 and we were not anywhere near capacity at 175, but four hundred? I had no idea where I was going to put them.

I gave Crutchy, who arrived early since he struggled to cover long distances, my bed. I figured I could crash on the floor, if at all, given the nature of the party. A few of the Staten Island boys even brought a fiddle, some drums, and some other musical instruments I didn't know. Music isn't really my thing. The whole thing was noisy, a bit hectic, and certainly fun. A bunch of girls from one of the factories showed up with Silver. All in all it was a roaring Christmas Eve—full bellies, down time, and plenty of cheap beer saw to that.

"Spot, how 'bout some Five Card Draw?" Race, one of the strike leaders from the previous summer asked. His friend Skittery, another of the Manhattan boys who had been an instigator earlier, was already at the table, but he looked distracted by the girl in his lap. I grinned as I surveyed the group. Mush had no poker face, and Red didn't know it, but I had figured out his tells, too. Snoddy was an unknown, but he had a bit of an innocent look about him; I sized him up quickly and decided I could probably handle him. Race was the only one who stood a chance against me. I'll take those odds.

No sooner had I joined the group when three girls approached. Race never even looked up as the tallest girl spoke.

"Hi, gentlemen. I'm Lydia," she said stoutly. "This is Jane and that's Mary." I sniggered to myself as Mush and Snoddy looked up.

"I'm Mush," Mush said, making googoo eyes at Jane. "That's Skittery over there with Nellie, and this is Racetrack, Spot, Snoddy, and Red. Are you going to be my good luck charm?" Jane smiled shyly and joined Mush as the other boys looked hopefully at Lydia and Mary. Mary settled herself between Red and Snoddy, while Lydia sat down between Race and me. Race ignored her steadfastly, focusing on shuffling his cards.

"Spot, as in Conlon?" Lydia said, smiling at me in a way that told me more than she probably wanted me to know.

"Spot Wickham," I replied. "That's Fitz Darcy," I motioned to Squish, who was joining our game. He gave me a quizzical look, but Snoddy sniggered. He had obviously read Pride and Prejudice, one of those books girls make you read. Katja had talked me into it a few months ago, and while it wasn't really my speed, it wasn't as bad as I'd thought.

"There's another Spot around here?" Lydia said, eyes wide. Snoddy was coughing, trying (rather unsuccessfully) to conceal his laughter while the others looked on in confusion. I turned back to Lydia.

"Yeah, doll, I'm Spot Conlon. You seem to have a leg up on me since I haven't heard of you." I smirked, but not unkindly. She leaned over to whisper into my ear.

"Not yet, but I can make sure you'll remember my name after tonight," she breathed.

I pulled her into my lap. Hey, what can I say? It's not my fault girls throw themselves at me.

"Promises, promises," I whispered back, turning back to the poker game.

Alcohol flowed freely, and Mush had long since given up the game to find a corner with Jane. Race and I had done most of the winning that night, which wasn't all that surprising. Race doesn't drink when he gambles. I know most people think he cheats, but he doesn't. He's actually good, and staying sober helps his odds. It's part of my strategy too, but I am a bit more discreet. I typically pretend to drink, maybe taking an occasional swig. Switching glasses when I refill them makes it look like I'm drinking far more than I actually do. It allows me to keep control. It also enhances my reputation because people say I can win at poker while drinking. I hold my liquor well regardless, and Christmas Eve was no exception. Lydia, meanwhile, was drunk. She was all over me. I didn't mind too much—it's not a bad thing to have a cute girl kissing you, you know, and it was better than having her talk—her shrill voice would have driven me crazy.

Now, most people think I take girls like Lydia—you know, the ones who throw themselves at me—to bed, but I don't. I discreetly let them down. I don't have time for entanglements, and any girl who isn't a professional has a tendency to think that sex is indicative of a relationship. It's not. Besides, I don't want to risk getting a girl pregnant or any of the other myriad problems that come with having many girls. That's why I stick to the few places and girls I trust to get my release. Lydia was no different. At some point I took her upstairs, where she spent awhile puking in the washroom before passing out. I put her on one of the bunks, then returned to the lounge, putting a shit-eating grin on my face. Let the guys assume what they will.

Given that the lodging houses expect us to become model citizens and that we resist vigorously, this party was a huge success, even if I did end up sleeping in a large armchair.

Christmas morning was a bit rough, with many of the guys still passed out all over the lodging house, and those that were awake mostly hung over or exhausted. By late morning I had woken everyone so that they could be presentable in time for the arrival of the Children's Aid Society folks who provided our Christmas meal and presents (donated clothing and shoes that would last most of the boys through the year). This was one of the few times we saw Mrs. Kirby, who had been ailing.

The banquet had been going well, and I surveyed the room in satisfaction. Everything seemed settled, and now was as good a time as any to slip out. I knew my absence wouldn't go unnoticed—one of the drawbacks of being the leader of Brooklyn—but at least now would be the easiest time. I gave Mrs. Kirby a quick peck on the cheek and wished her a merry Christmas. I motioned to Red that I was headed out, and he nodded. I knew he, Ace, and Silver would keep the boys in line if needed in my absence. It was nice having such a reliable group of friends.

It was snowing. Ugh. To a newsie that means people heading inside quickly instead of stopping for newspapers, and it means trudging through slop with wet, cold, heavy feet. I looked down at my new boots and smiled slightly—no wet feet for me this year. In fact, the closer I got to the Fischer's building, the more my mood improved. The snow even started to look pretty.

I was in luck; Cat was just grabbing her cloak as I arrived. "Merry Christmas, Cat," I said as she greeted me. "I can't stay long, but I thought maybe we could go for a walk in the new snow."

Ten minutes later we were outside, enjoying the quiet of the Brooklyn streets as most people celebrated the day with families. She told me a bit about their economic woes, and I had to admit that I could understand her worry. Mr. Fischer barely made more than I did, and their apartment, while far nicer and more private than our lodging house, cost considerably more. I suddenly felt like a stingy bastard wearing shoes that I could have afforded and chose not to buy when they were so worried about money. I resolved to buy Katja something nice in the near future—maybe a new cloak? This one was looking a bit rough. They would never accept charity, especially from me, and had no idea that I currently had almost $400 in savings from the last five years. Actually, nobody knew that; who would ever suspect such a thing of a poor newsboy? The fact was that I was a miser who was also one of the top sellers in the city. Actually, so was Red, whom Katja had just mentioned, and my thoughts returned to the conversation at hand.

"He's thinking by next summer he'll be moving on; he's just waiting for the right ship. He's not in a hurry to take the first job that comes along, and he'll be looking for one where he can advance. It wouldn't be a bad life for him. He's happiest on the water," I said.

"Captain Red," Katja said, laughing at the mental image. "I suppose, though, that he'd have to go by his real name, right? I mean, only pirates have nicknames like yours. I don't even know his name," she mused. I couldn't help but laugh. Pirates?

"I don't figure he tells many people, but it's Michael," I told her. Seriously, Red doesn't like to talk about his other life. He may not even reclaim his old name. "Don't tell him I told you," I added, winking at her. She laughed. I decided in that moment that the sound of her laughter is the most magical thing I have ever heard.

"What about you?" she asked, and I had to mentally shake myself from my swoon over her laugh to rejoin her train of thought. Right, names.

"It's Tommy. Thomas Conlon. A good Irish name," I told her. Unlike most people in my profession, I don't have a huge past that I want to forget; I was so young when I wound up on the streets, and nobody really ever intentionally hurt me the way it's happened to so many of my boys. Nevertheless, it pays to keep one's aura of mystery, and while it wasn't exactly traumatic, my past was still personal—something we newsies don't do. "But ain't nobody who knows that except you, so don't you go telling people! I've been Spot since I sold me first pape and claimed the spot was magic. I always went back to my magic spot. I was so little, and the boys laughed at my obsession with it, so they called me Magic Spot. Didn't take long for that to be shortened. Before that I was just 'the kid.' Nobody around now who remembers anything else."

She laughed again. It actually is a bit of a funny story when you think about it.

"Where was this magic spot?" she asked, and now it was my turn to smile. I had inadvertently led her to our lunch bench—which happens to be my magic spot. I've been selling in this area near the business district since 1890. It's been magic for me in many ways, not the least of which was that I met the Fischers here. I couldn't help it. I grabbed her hand and turned her toward me, hoping she would understand just how magical this spot really was and how she factored into that.

"Right here," I said.

"Right where we met is your magic spot?" she said in surprise, and now it was my turn to smile, at least inwardly. God, I was falling for her, and the combination of her laughter, the snow, and this spot, this magical spot, was enough to drive me to distraction.

"In more ways than one," I said, looking her in the eyes. I love that—her expressive green eyes that reveal so much. She has this guileless expression that lets me see exactly what she's thinking, and I could just keep staring at her eyes forever. But I didn't. My gaze shifted to her lips, and it was like there was a magnet there, drawing me down to her. I leaned in and touched those magnetic lips with mine—just a brief contact. I didn't really pull away—just enough to look at her face and read the expression there. She was surprised; that much was obvious. She was also blushing—normal, I suppose, for a shy girl's first kiss. Mostly, though, I saw the hint of a smile on her face, and I knew that I had her approval, even if she wasn't aware of it yet. I smiled before leaning back in and kissing her again. This time, she responded, and I think a part of me that I hadn't known existed awoke in that moment.

As much as I would have loved nothing more than to spend the rest of the day there in that spot, kissing Katja and ignoring the world, it would never do. My body was going to want more, and my ability to think clearly demanded I quit while I was ahead, especially since I still had responsibilities that day. I pulled back from the kiss, but the ruthless pragmatist in me didn't completely win the day when I kept hold of her hand as we headed back. She was suddenly shy again; did she even know she was avoiding my gaze? I determined I would treat her normally in an effort to keep her from falling into those habits.

"Hey, I hadn't told you about the new kid, have I?" I asked, and she shook her head and looked up at me quizzically.

"No. When did this happen?" she asked, and I knew things were fine between us. We chatted amicably the whole way back to her apartment, just as we had on our way out—except that her hand was in mine the entire time. When we reached her place, that hand was still so warm in mine, and I glanced from it to her face. Whoops—those lips drew me in again, and I gave her another brief kiss before forcing myself to step away.

"See ya later," I said as casually as I could muster, and I wonder to this day how my voice didn't break.


	27. Katja12--New Years Party

The next day I raced over to Ingrid's after work. I couldn't wait to tell her my news.

"Guess what," I said breathlessly as she let me into their apartment.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," she laughed, and I gave her a dirty look. "You look like you are about to burst."

"Spot kissed me," I blurted out.

"About time," she said, and I stared at her. "Oh, come on, Katja. The two of you have been chummy for years. It was bound to happen sooner or later," she laughed.

"Ingrid, just because we've been friends—"

"Listen, Kati. When Spot is with you he is the person he could have been with a family. When he's with anyone else he's the great Spot Conlon, the toughest guy in Brooklyn and maybe all of New York," she said, rolling her eyes as if she had just stated the most obvious thing in the world. "You're what's good and kind in his life. You've always brought out the best in him." I thought about that. Spot did have two sides—that hard edge, that scary, icy voice, that predatory gaze I had seen so rarely—and then the Spot I knew; the kind, gentle, intelligent, and compassionate leader who liked to talk politics and law.

"But that doesn't mean—"

"No, it doesn't. But it's not surprising, either. He would never risk your friendship, but if there's more between you, then it would only be natural. So is there? More, I mean?"

Her question threw me. I had to think about it. I loved Spot very dearly. I missed him when I wasn't around—but then again, I missed Hazel, and I missed Ingrid when I hadn't seen her for awhile, and I couldn't imagine a day without Papa. I enjoyed being kissed by Spot, and it had made my stomach do flipflops, but I just didn't know if that meant there was more. I didn't know what it meant to be in love.

"I don't know," I said honestly, and my confusion must've been obvious on my face.

Ingrid and I spent much of the day talking, and the only conclusion we came to was that I wasn't sure about Spot but that kissing as a whole was fun and I should try that part again—maybe with Spot or maybe with someone else. I couldn't think of anyone else, as I was still too shy to talk to most boys or even too many girls, but that wasn't actually the point.

The next day we met as usual on our bench. Papa, Red, Ingrid, Spot, Greasefoot, and I were enjoying the day's newspaper and some good conversation in spite of the cold. I stole the occasional glance at Spot, but all I felt was a weird sensation in my stomach when I looked at him. He was behaving as if our kiss had never happened, but he was as friendly as ever. Okay, so maybe he didn't feel anything for me, either. I decided to brush it off and just enjoy the day. The snow had indeed turned into a brown, ugly mess, but the sky was a bright blue, and although it was cold, the early afternoon sunshine felt good.

"Hey, Cat," Red said as we were getting ready to head back to our respective lives, "you ever spent New Year's Eve in Manhattan?"

"No," I answered, a bit embarrassed. I had barely ever been to Manhattan.

"Care to join us? A bunch of us were thinkin' a heading over to ring in 1900. Should be a big party," he grinned. Spot grinned, too.

"Yeah, you girls should come," he said. "If that's okay with you, Mr. Fischer," he added, glancing at Papa.

"I think that would be marvelous," he said. "Of course, I expect you would see to them?"

"Don't you worry, sir," Red responded, winking at me. "We know better than to let anything happen to a friend of Spot's." Spot glared at him at this, and Red shrugged his shoulders while Papa laughed uproariously.

"You will have a grand time!" he said.

"I hope so," Ingrid replied, her eyes sparkling.

Two days later Ingrid informed us that her parents would not allow her to join us. Mr. and Mrs. Meyer were much more conservative, and as they did not know Spot and the boys as Papa did, they were hesitant to let their only daughter out with a couple of street rats so late at night. I tried to convince them, but I'm no good at that sort of thing.

"That's okay, Kati," Ingrid said philosophically. "You go and have fun. Be sure to get a kiss at midnight from someone, though!" I laughed at that. Yeah, right. Nobody was going to kiss me!

New Year's Eve day crawled by. Most of the snow was gone, but it was still cold and damp. The newsboys had sold well in the prior week; special editions summing up the best of the 19th century and making predictions for the twentieth were helping business along. Spot and several of the older newsboys sold their morning editions quickly so they could catch a short nap before the afternoon edition. They sold well and then took another nap. When I asked about it later, Spot explained that if we expected to celebrate the New Year, we would miss curfew at the lodging house. He explained that they planned to celebrate all night before the next day's editions, which would be huge sellers. They would need to be somewhat rested in order to make that work and maximize their profits. "Oh," was all I could think to say. I hadn't realized that the boys planned to work the next day, but it made sense.

The group of older newsboys and I headed out to Manhattan that evening. The walk is somewhat long, but it's pretty; the Brooklyn Bridge is a sight to behold, and Manhattan is a really neat place. We joined a throng of people out on the streets, grabbing food from a vendor. The excitement in the air was palpable, and the music from various establishments was raucous. I made sure to stick close to the boys as we pushed through the crowds until we ran into another group of rowdy boys.

"Jack," Spot said, spitting into his hand and holding it out. This Jack,who was maybe a year older, did the same, and the two shook hands. I had heard of this practice before and even witnessed it on the docks the previous summer, but it still seemed disgusting to me.

"Heya Spot," he said, and then turned to spit shake with Red. "How you boys doin'?"

"Real good, Cowboy," said Red. The boys were all greeting one another, and I realized I was heavily outnumbered and reverted to my old habit of looking at my shoes.

"And who is this?" Jack asked, coming to stop in front of me. I tried to look up and found myself face to face with a tall and very good-looking boy. I blushed.

"This is Cat. She's a friend," I heard Spot say, and there was an edge to his voice that surprised me. I've only ever heard it when he's angry, and he'd been perfectly normal so far; he hadn't seemed mad when he greeted this Jack fellow a moment ago. I wondered if I had done something to make him angry.

"Hiya Cat, pleased to meet you," Jack said politely, holding out his hand. I was relieved that he hadn't spit in it again as I shook it and gave him a small smile. "Welcome to Manhattan."

"Thanks," I murmured, then kicked myself for my shyness, threw back my shoulders, and looked him squarely in the face. Spot's been working on this with me for so long now you'd think I'd be better.

"These are some of me friends," he said, gesturing behind him to the rowdy boys, and I realized I recognized Jack and several of the boys from the pictures of the strike last summer. These must be the Lower East Side newsboys—well, some of them, anyway. Most of these were my age or older, like the Brooklyn boys, and there were women with the group, mostly even a touch older than us. Their dresses were far more gaudy and revealing than any I had seen before, and it took just a few minutes for me to realize who they were.

"Spot," I hissed in his ear, forgetting that he sounded mad a moment ago. He pulled me away from the group, a look of concern on his face.

"You okay, Katja?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Yeah. It's just those girls—they're not—" I didn't know what word to use. They all sounded so dirty somehow.

The corners of Spot's mouth lifted as he realized what I was asking. "Working girls?" he supplied, and I nodded, blushing.

"Yeah, they are. They're also friends. Don't think of their jobs when you talk to 'em, Cat. Think of them as street kids like us. They ain't so different. They just have a different job than we do."

I blushed and stared at my shoes again, nodding. Spot was right. Mama and Papa always said that I should not judge someone and remember that they are only doing their best. I remembered Papa telling me to see Spot's heart with my own. Papa had been right then, and perhaps Spot was right now. Still . . .

"Katja, sex is just that. Sex. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone does it. These girls just do it for a living. Everyone else hides it. Just relax." How had he read my mind like that?

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders again, running that thought through my brain. . Sex is no big deal unless you talk about it. Everyone does it. So I could treat these girls just like everyone else. I resolved to do exactly that. I smiled up at Spot.

"Thanks," I said. "Let's rejoin the party."

Spot was right. The girls were no different than any others I had met, although they were a lot less shy than I was. I had a grand time with them all the same. One of them, a tall girl named Emma, was particularly nice. She teased me about who would kiss me at midnight, then laughed when I blushed.

"You're a virgin, ain't ya?" she asked, and I nodded.

"I don't know if I can even imagine having sex," I admitted, forgetting for a moment her occupation. She seemed to think that was hysterical.

"Oh, kitten, you'll change your mind soon enough. It really isn't a big deal once you've done it a time or two. But for now, let's figure out your midnight kiss," she said, her words tumbling out in a rapid, laughing jumble.

"I can't just choose someone at random and expect him to kiss me," I said.

"Cat, ya gotta show the boys who's really in charge, here," she said. "You pick a boy, look him dead in the eye, and he's hooked. Look at him like you're trying to decide if he's worthy, and he's really hooked. Give him an almost smile so he thinks he has a chance. Then you leave the rest up to him." She turned to a tall blonde boy—Dutchy I think his name was—and looked at him levelly. He stared for a moment, and she tilted her head slightly as if considering him. She lifted the corners of her lips, then broke the gaze. It was as if she had performed a spell. Dutchy came straight over. I laughed as she turned to him. "I need someone at my side at midnight," she sighed dramatically, and Dutchy puffed up his chest.

"I'll help ya ring in the new year, Em" he said, seeming as if he'd offered to save the world for her. She thanked him, then, dismissing him momentarily, turned to me.

"See? Now, if I had to pick one for ya to try it on, I would pick Kid Blink over there. He's tough in a fight, but he is as soft as they come. Too soft for any of us, but perfect for you," she said, gesturing to a boy with an eye patch, and I couldn't help but laugh. I was learning to flirt from a true professional. I doubted I could or would pull it off, but it was fun to try it tonight. I felt somehow freer and wilder than I ever had. Braver, too. I decided to give it a shot. I caught the gaze of Kid Blink. I was surprised to find he was cute and that his gaze was captivating. I gave a small smile, then broke off my gaze shyly and looked down.

"Well, aren't you coy," Emma laughed. "It worked. You charmed him, alright. He's headed this way."

I blushed and tried to look up, but somehow it was harder now that a real human being was in front of me.

"Cat, right?" a friendly voice said. I managed to look right up at him and smile.

"That's right," I said. "And you're . . . " I trailed off. It seemed weird to call someone I didn't know Kid Blink.

"Kid Blink," he supplied, and I smiled again. This wasn't so bad.

"How long have you had that name? You're not a kid," I said, genuinely curious, and he laughed.

"Been a newsie for awhile," he said. "Most of the boys call me Blink these days."

"Funny how you guys all seem to get these nicknames and then give yourselves nicknames for your nicknames," I observed. He looked a bit surprised at that, seeming to consider what I had said for a moment before breaking into a grin.

"Yeah, I guess we do," he laughed. We fell into an easy conversation as the group moved down the road. I saw Red talking to a guy with a cigar in his mouth; they appeared to be arguing good-naturedly. Spot was talking to one of the girls, and I caught his eye and grinned. He grinned back, then returned to his conversation. I was having fun! Between laughing at Emma and Dutchy, talking to Blink and his friend with the curly hair (a boy named Mush), and the general antics of various members of the group, I lost track of time.

Suddenly I heard Jack yell over the group, "Almost midnight, ya bums!" I had almost forgotten that we were celebrating a holiday.

Blink turned to me, and I managed not to look away completely, even if I could only look at his chin.

"You up for a New Years kiss?" Blink asked, his own smile suddenly also a bit shy. I nodded because I couldn't actually speak. I was surprised when I suddenly heard church bells.

"Happy New Year!" the shout went up from the crowd, and Blink leaned in for a kiss. It was short and gentle and felt nice. He smiled at me, and I grinned back, looking around shyly. Pretty much every girl in the group was lip locked with someone. I saw Spot kissing a girl named Minnie, and for some reason it bothered me. I don't know why. I brushed it aside and smiled as Red came over and planted a kiss on my cheek.

"Happy New Year, Katja," he said, and I laughed when I realized he was drunk. It had always bothered me before—people being drunk, that is-but somehow this didn't seem too bad.

We continued on our way down the street, stopping at a vendor for some soup before winding up at a theater; the entertainment that night seemed to run late. It never occurred to me that there were special performances for the holiday night. The boys all seemed to know this particular hall, and I had never seen a vaudeville performance. A redheaded woman with a thick accent sang upbeat tunes, and the entire group sang along. Other acts rounded out the show; the whole thing was lively and immensely entertaining. There also seemed to be quite a bit of movement within the group—the boys were constantly switching seats, getting up and sitting back down, and more. I was having a great time. I hadn't seen Silver laugh so hard since I had known him, and Blink had not really left my side all evening. Emma and Dutchy disappeared after the first act for awhile; but a girl named Louisa and I had a good laugh over Red's attempts to walk in a straight line. I wasn't normally one for such raucous entertainment, but it felt good to cut loose.

After the show we wandered down the street for a bit longer, celebrating a bit more before Spot rounded up the Brooklyn crew. "We got papes to sell before long," he reminded everyone, "and a long walk back to Brooklyn." We said goodbye to the Manhattan crew, and I got a kiss on the cheek and a wink from Kid Blink and a hug and another wink from Emma, who had reappeared, Dutchy in tow, as we had left the theater. Red threw his arm around my shoulder, and we headed off toward the bridge and home.

There were still quite a few revelers about, and Ace's antics ensured we were a merry group as we reached the bridge. Spot came to walk beside me as we crossed the river. Somehow I had only marginally spoken to him this whole evening, but it was nice to spend the end of it with him.

"So, did ya have fun, Cat?" he smirked.

"Yeah," I responded, shivering as the wind gusted across the bridge. Spot drew me to his side, and I huddled against him. He was warm. "That was fun. I've never done anything like that."

"You and Emma seemed to get along," he mused, and I smiled at him.

"You were right. She was really nice," I said. "So were the other newsboys."

"Especially Blink?" he asked, and I had to blush. That only served to make him snicker as I chewed my bottom lip and grinned sideways up at him.

"Yeah, he was nice," I said. "And that Racetrack guy was really funny." Then I remembered a question I had wanted to ask: "Why do you spit shake?"

Spot looked surprised. Apparently his mind had been taking a different turn in our conversation. He stopped for a moment, then smiled down at me. "It's our way of showing we're serious. It seals a bargain a bit more firmly and with a lot more trust than just a handshake."

"It's gross," I teased, wrinkling my nose. He laughed.

"Happy New Year, Darlin'," he said, and he leaned over and gave me a soft kiss.


	28. Spot12--New Years Eve

I couldn't get her out of my head. Kissing Katja had made that Christmas as special as the previous year. If Christmas is that good every year, I'll happily start celebrating it.

I knew Katja would need some time to sort out her feelings. I didn't get the reputation of being a womanizer for nothing; I know I have a good understanding of how women think. I'd bet a fair bit that Cat went to Ingrid first thing. I, on the other hand, needed to think on my own. I was falling for her. I had known that for awhile. I had liked girls before and even had one or two stick around for more than a few days, but never like this. It was becoming problematic; I felt like I needed to see her every day, and it was distracting me from running things with the boys. I hadn't yet let my guard down, either around the boys or in the running of things, but it was bound to happen. I had to be careful.

The next day I resolved to pretend nothing had happened between us. I took Red and Roller with me to the bench as a precaution; Red to keep me honest and Roller to keep me focused. It turned out that Ingrid was there, too, and the way she looked at me left me in no doubt that she knew about the kiss. I worked hard to treat Katja normally; you wouldn't think it would be that hard, but just looking at her face made my eyes want to fall to her lips. But I think I pulled it off admirably, and the day passed uneventfully.

That is, until Red opened his big mouth! What was he doing inviting Katja to Manhattan? I plastered a grin on my face, then remembered Ingrid and quickly included her in the invitation. Another quick glance had me speaking to her father—another reminder that I needed to think of Cat as a friend. Maybe he would say no . . . .

"I think that would be marvelous. Of course, I expect you would see to them?" he answered. Should have seen that coming.

"Don't you worry, sir," Red was answering, and he winked at me. "We know better than to let anything happen to a friend of Spot's." I glared at him. I could tell that he didn't really suspect anything, but even so the implication bothered me.

I spent the rest of the week brooding. Was she going to expect me to kiss her on New Years? Did I want to? Well, yes, of course I did, but did I want to take that risk was the better question. So far the "revert to friends" strategy was working; she treated me as normally as I had been treating her, so either she felt nothing or she was playing it cool because I was. I suspected the latter, given what I know of Katja's introverted nature and tendency to think and feel deeply, but I feared a combination of the two. What if she didn't feel for me what I felt for her? This insecurity was driving me crazy. If I hadn't sold well all week, I might have been a bit of a bear to the boys. I pulled it together though, and a good hand of poker helped. We tend to play a lot of poker in the winter because we can't burn off excess energy at the docks. The cold doesn't stop us from sparring (or playing for the younger ones) on the streets, but it does bring us in earlier.

Headlines around the end of the year tend to be good as people recap the year. More people are buying, too. This was particularly true in 1899, when the recap covered an entire century. The papes ran big specials and series and whatnot. It made selling easy, and that meant more free time for me. I know I could sell a lot more, but I also know that if I do that, some of the little ones don't profit as easily from the good selling. I sold a bit above average, but I left myself a lot of time, which I used wisely.

See, nobody really knows this, but I've been studying law. The local DA, a Mr. Donovan, had, at the sight of a letter of recommendation from the Governor, taken me on. I went over there twice a week to help him with his paperwork. In return he loaned me law books and helped me study. I can read exceptionally quickly—a useful newsie skill-and have more than just half a brain; in fact, according to Mr. Donovan I am far above average in the intelligence department. We have already hashed out a plan for me to have basically completed my study of the law before enrolling in college. I was getting a lot of practical experience, too. That way I can take extra courses each term and finish quickly since I can't afford a full course of study. I still had a fair bit of reading to do over the holidays while Mr. Donovan was in Philadelphia with his family, and I had promised him I would work on some of his more boring tasks as well. I was even watering the plants in his office over the holiday-a small price for what I was learning from him! So I used my extra time to catch up on some of the studying and other work I needed to get done.

New Year's Eve day was perhaps one of the best selling days I can remember. I sold a full 350 that day, skipped lunch with the Fischers, and took a nap between editions and another before heading out for the night; we all knew we would need the sleep.

I had Greasefoot pick up Katja to meet us at the bridge. I sent Legs along for fun. Greasefoot is going to be the next leader, I think; the kid is tough and growing up quickly. Legs was too little to come with us tonight, but it helped him feel like he was growing up, too. Kid needed a confidence boost. We walked in a big group, and I don't think Katja even noticed that she was the only girl. Actually, neither did most of the boys. They treat her like a sister because I make them, but it's working. Nobody thinks of her as anything else yet—except me, the fearless leader, of course.

We met up with the Lower East Side boys easily enough. Cowboy and I spit-shook before his eyes fell on Cat.

"And who is this?" he grinned, and I instantly felt protective.

"This is Cat. She's a friend," I said, shooting a warning at Jack that he didn't miss. The boy is no fool, and he heard the message not to mess with her loud and clear. Katja wasn't like the girls Jack had brought along, and I wanted to make sure he knew it. She was looking at her shoes again. That means she's intimidated. Jack greeted her politely, and I watched her gather herself and come out of her shell. Okay; Jack would make sure his boys treated her properly. I was just saying hello to Bumlets when Katja whispered into my ear.

"Spot," she said, and I looked at her. She had a nervous expression, and I instantly went into protective mode and pulled her from the group.

"You okay, Katja?" I asked.

"Yeah. It's just those girls—they're not—" she stuttered. Realization dawned on me; she had never met a working girl before! Boy, was I glad Gina wasn't here! I smiled.

"Working girls?" I asked. She nodded, blushing. I tried to tell myself that her naïve question and the way she was biting her lip without realizing it were NOT cute. I failed. "Yeah, they are," I went on. "They're also friends." I talked a bit more, trying to put her at ease. I hope she can see past their jobs; I think she could get along well with some of the girls.

"Thanks," she said, and I saw her face clear. "Let's rejoin the party."

We did, and I found myself chatting with Racetrack; he's a great guy, and funny as hell.

"So, that girl ya brought," he broached after awhile.

"Yeah?" I said a bit more belligerently than I had intended.

"Hey, I'se just askin'," Race said, putting up his hands defensively.

"Sorry, Race. She's the daughter of a friend," I said, trying to deflect a bit. It worked.

"Well, she seems sweet," he said. "Innocent. She don't get out much, does she?"

"Not really; Red invited her. This is new to her. She's doing well, though," I said nonchalantly.

"Blink thinks so," Race answered, and he nodded toward the boy, who was talking to Katja. They seemed to be hitting it off. Hm.

Race and I carried on talking, but my mind was turning over what I was seeing. Katja and Blink, huh? Well, the girl did need to get out some. I forced myself to ignore the twisting in my gut and to think of her. She was young. Blink was a good guy, and he wouldn't hurt her. If she really liked him, I would be selfish to stand in the way. I'd keep an eye on her, but it was her life. She could do a lot worse.

"Hey, handsome," a voice whispered in my ear. I turned around. Minnie. Well, why not? It didn't look like anyone else was stepping up for me, and I wasn't in the mood for a lot of games.

"Heya, Min," I said as Jack yelled out that it was almost midnight. I grabbed Minnie into a kiss as the church bells rang out. When we parted I saw Red giving Katja a peck on the cheek. Emma moved close and pulled me in for a kiss, and the wild, moving mass of people forced me to concentrate on the present. Medda's was great as always, and I am pretty sure most of the boys were having fun. Especially Ab, for whom this was the first time out. And Blink, who was glued to Katja's side. In spite of the twisting jealousy I was feeling, I was having a genuinely good time when I looked down at my watch. When had it gotten to be four am? I began rounding up the Brooklyn crew, though I got no help from Red, who was somewhat drunk. I'd have to get him sobered up a bit before he could sell. I herded my group down the road towards the river, doing another quick head count as we rounded the corner. Ace was keeping everyone entertained, which was good; it was also keeping everyone moving. I caught his eye and nodded my approval.

"Spot," said Greasefoot, who had at my elbow. "Brown wants to know if he can stay behind at Ms. Mina's. I told him I didn't think so," he said. I nodded. Yep, Greasefoot was definitely shaping up to be my replacement someday.

"You're right. Everyone needs to sell. He can come back and spend some of his earnings tonight," I said, looking over at Brown. My eyes scanned the group one last time. I was satisfied we had everyone, and motioned to Greasefoot to head to the front of the group. "Lead us home. I'll sweep up stragglers," I said, and the boy nodded.

I walked over to Red, who had his arm slung over Katja's shoulders. "Eat this," I told him, handing him the small hunk of bread and cheese I had held back for precisely this scenario. "You need to sober up before you can sell."

"Thanks, boss," he slurred and stumbled up ahead of us. I turned to Katja as we headed across the river.

"So, did ya have fun, Cat?" I asked, looking sideways at her. The girl was shivering. She really needed a new cloak. I pulled her in closer to me, trying to keep her warm as she answered.

"Yeah. That was fun," she said, huddling up against me. Jeez, I really shouldn't be doing this to myself.

"You and Emma seemed to get along," I said, hoping to find out if she'd been as comfortable with the other girls as I'd hoped.

"You were right. She was really nice. So were the other newsboys," she said.

"Especially Blink?" I asked, and she blushed and chewed her bottom lip. That made me laugh.

"Yeah, he was nice," she answered as I watched her face closely. No, no big reaction about him. "And that Racetrack guy was really funny," she continued. Okay. So no big reaction to Blink, talking in general terms about the boys . . . did that mean she wasn't interested in Blink? My stomach gave a little lurch at the thought, but before I could fully process it, Katja caught me off guard again. "Why do you spit shake?" she asked.

I was taken aback. Had we really changed gears from her potential suitors to spit shaking? I shook it off, realizing that I was the one who had been thinking along the lines of Katja's romantic interests. I gave her a quick explanation.

"It's gross," she said, wrinkling her nose in that adorable way. The evening's success of convincing myself that I could move on from Katja was blown away in an instant.

"Happy New Year, Darlin'" I said, and then I did what I promised myself I would not do; I kissed her.


	29. Katja13--Spring of the horse

he following weeks brought several changes. The first was a change to my shift at work. I had wanted more hours, and I was informed that I would be working the later shift from noon to ten. This was difficult news; it meant that I would no longer be able to meet Papa for the meal we had shared for so many years, either at 1:00 as we had done before my job, or at 5:00 as we had done for the last year.

"Kati, Liebling, that is how it goes. We will simply eat our lunch together earlier instead," Papa said philosophically. I hugged him. He's been so supportive.

The next day I arrived at our bench at 11, and Papa and I sat in the January cold enjoying hot soup and each other's company. Since I hadn't seen any of the boys to tell them about my new schedule, it was just the two of us. I had to admit that it was pretty nice; I had missed these times alone with Papa. We had no newspaper to discuss, but it was fun just talking. I told him about how Spot had kissed me. He just smiled knowingly.

"Ja, Kati, this is not a surprise," he said. Switching to German, he continued. "And what do you feel about this?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I want to be his friend. I love spending time with him. But I get nervous at the thought of being somebody's girl," I answered honestly. "And I know he's had girls before me; he has a reputation among the boys, according to Ingrid, and I saw him kissing a girl on New Year's, but that might just have been a midnight kiss."

"Ah, Katja, you are young. You have time. You are not anybody's girl. You are Katja.—a person, not property. You must remember that it is okay to do what makes you happy as long as it is also what is right. Spot is a good man, but there are many men. You can have many suitors. But always remember that even if you do not want to be with Spot, he is your friend, first. Red, too, and the other boys. Always be friends, ja?"

"I don't think Spot thinks of me as property," I said, feeling a bit defensive.

"This is true. I think our Spot sees you very much as his friend. Perhaps he is also afraid. He might wish to keep his friend and not risk the romance. Remember, he is doing his best, just like you. You be his friend, and the rest you will figure out with him," Papa said, shrugging.

"Thank you, Papa," I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Papa had an answer for everything. "I just wish Mama were here. I wonder what she would have said."

Papa looked wistful. "I miss her, too, Katja. She would have been proud to see the young lady you are becoming. Now, you go on and make your new boss proud. Do as you're told and finish everything he has you start. I will be there to pick you up tonight," he said. I hugged him and headed off to work.

The new job came with a new supervisor. He was in his mid 30s, and his name was Mr. Santorelli.

"Ah, Katie," he said after we'd been introduced. "Good to meet you. I look forward to getting to know you, and I know you'll be a good girl, eh?"

"Yes, sir," I said, trying hard not to stare at the floor. I managed a shy smile. I am definitely getting better at this. It irritated me that he called me Katie, but I didn't want to upset him on my first day by saying anything, even if I'd had the courage.

That evening when I left work, it was dark. As the cleaning lady, I was the last person to leave for the night. I hadn't realized how late it would be and how quiet the streets were at that time of night. I shuddered a bit, thinking of the incident last summer, when I spotted Papa and Jimmy waiting to walk me home. I hugged Papa, and we set off for home. As we walked, we talked of our days. He had explained my absence to the boys, several of whom had dropped by. I told him about the girl in the afternoon shift who had broken her arm tripping over a chair. Thankfully she had not been seriously hurt, but she had been fired. I worried about something like that every day. We could not afford for me to lose my job.

Within a week Papa and I had settled into a new routine. I would buy the last of the morning papers from Spot, and the three of us would settle into our bench for an early lunch. I began bringing food for all three of us. Every night after work someone would walk me home—sometimes Papa, sometimes Spot or Red, occasionally one of the other older boys. Red even invited me to a vaudeville show on my day off in late January. I enjoyed it immensely, but when Red kissed me at the end of the night, I simply pulled away shyly. I just wasn't interested in Red that way. He apologized, and I assured him he hadn't done anything wrong and that we were still friends. He made me promise not to tell Spot, reminding me of the day we had met and how Spot had almost soaked him. I laughed and agreed. The one sad spot that winter was Ingrid. She had finished school and was working for a nearby bookstore, but her hours were the opposite of mine. As a result we rarely saw each other anymore, and I missed her. Overall, though, things were not bad.

In mid-February, Maus died. Papa and I had not saved nearly enough for another horse, so this was a huge problem for us. Papa told me not to worry; something would work out. I was telling Muriel at work about it the next day, when Mr. Santorelli walked by. That evening he called me into his office as the shift was ending.

"Katie, I hear your family needs some money for a horse," he said, and I nodded, my head down. He stroked my hair as he so frequently did, then nodded once. "You're a good girl, Katie. I can loan you the money. You can pay me a bit at a time out of your paycheck every week, and I'll give you the money for the horse. That way I know I keep my best employee, and you and your papa can make ends meet."

I didn't know what to say. I had never really liked Mr. Santorelli much. Something about him made me uncomfortable, even if he was never anything but polite and kind to me. I actually wondered why I kept judging him; I tried not to. But I couldn't ignore this act of kindness. "I—thank you," was all I managed. He smiled, opened a safe in the wall, and pulled out fifty dollars. I gaped and thanked him again, and he just pulled me into a crushing bear hug.

Papa was there to pick me up. I told him about Mr. Santorelli and handed him the money. He sighed. "Katja, I do not like being in debt, but I must confess that I am grateful to your Herr Santorelli. He must be a good man to give us so much money simply because you are a good girl. I am proud of you."

By the end of the week, Papa had business up and running. I was relieved, and within a month we were able to make our first payment of five dollars towards what we owed on the debt. During this time I also tried to do a bit of extra work for Mr. Santorelli. He seemed to genuinely like me. He also really liked clean windows, so I was constantly shining them. Sometimes he would lean over me as I checked my reflection in them, and then he would smile at my reflection before returning to his job. Yep, life had once again settled into a routine.


	30. Spot13--Spring Calm

The first part of the year was a bit tumultuous. Things were mercifully peaceful at the Lodging House, but Katja's shift change had created massive upheaval in the lives of boys who depend on what little routine they can find. The switch of times for meeting on the bench created some tension as boys wanted to adjust their selling routines to be able to join us. They settled eventually, as they inevitably do. Red even took Katja out on a date. He didn't think I'd known about it, but I have my sources. Those sources (okay, it was me—after I heard he was taking her out, I kept a discreet eye on them) also saw that she was not interested in pursuing a romance with him. Score for me. Well, maybe—more like no score for Red.

When the Fischers' horse died, things got even crazier. For a week he wasn't working, and I watched Katja worry and fret over money. I debated giving money to Mr. Fischer, but I doubted he'd accept it. The problem resolved itself when Katja's boss took care of things. It struck me as a bit odd until Silver pointed out that everyone liked the Fischers and that we'd have done the same. I am not much of a horse man, but Katja had a way with the animal. He was flightier than their old horse, but he always settled under her gentle touch.

All through those months I struggled with the realization that I had fallen truly in love with Katja. This wasn't just a passing crush; I wanted her to be mine, but more than that I wanted her to be herself. Her happiness became paramount, and seeing her smile was the most important goal of any day. It was killing me, but I played it cool. I was interested in forever, and for a girl of barely sixteen with no real experience, forever was too much. I would have to wait until she was ready for forever, and that meant I would have to back off, maybe even for a few years. Even if it killed me.

I coped well, though. I immersed myself in my studies. Twice a week I spent a few hours with Mr. Donovan, and I had worked through two full law courses and was becoming well versed in the basics. The practical experience of assisting Mr. Donovan with his paperwork was also going to pay off someday. It was a win for each of us; Mr. Donovan got regular assistance with his office work without having to pay a paralegal, and I got an education and a mentor in the field. I still hadn't told the boys, though. They just assumed I was off whoring or something else, and they knew better than to ask questions.

Oh, I was busy. Intentionally so. Given what was to come, though, these were some of the more peaceful days of the year 1900.


	31. Katja14--Papa!

I will never forget the date. March 26th, 1900. It was a Monday. The morning had started out somewhat ordinary. It was a wet, dreary day, and I brought a hot wurst to Papa for lunch. I remember that. It had that spicy mustard on it that Papa and I loved so much. I had another one without mustard for Spot, and I was glad I had brought extra food when Red joined us. I took care of Blackie, Papa's skittish new gelding, as Red threw a stick for Jimmy. Spot and Papa talked politics, and we all enjoyed our meal. Papa kissed my cheek and climbed into the carriage, and Spot, Red, and I turned to walk toward where I worked.

I never remembered hearing the trolley or the crash. Instead I remember Jimmy barking and someone yelling. It's funny how certain sounds stay with you. We spun around, and I saw the mangled carriage and Blackie thrashing violently on the ground.

"Papa," I screamed, running forward. Spot's arm grabbed my waist and stopped me in my tracks. "Papa!" I screamed again, struggling against Spot's iron grip around my middle.

"Hold her," he yelled at Red over my screams, and Red grabbed me, holding me in place as Spot ran toward the carriage. By now the trolley driver had crawled onto the road and several bystanders and a police officer were running forward. I turned to Red.

"LET ME GO! PAPA!" I know I was screaming and thrashing frantically, but I don't remember a whole lot else. At some point I was crushed to Red's chest, and I vaguely remember Spot and Red communicating around me. I don't really remember details. Actually, there is a big blank in my memory. I don't think I passed out or anything, but I don't remember much of anything until Spot and Red laid me on my bed at home. I must have fallen asleep.

When I awoke it was dark outside my window, and I looked around my room in confusion. I was fully dressed, but my collar button had been loosened and my boots removed. I sat up and blinked a few times, trying to clear my head, when Spot, who had been sitting in a chair nearby, came over and sat on my bed.

"Hey," he said softly, and suddenly the events of the day came rushing back to me and I sat up. Papa! Was he hurt? I needed to— Spot put a hand on my shoulder, and my gut clenched.

"Papa?" I asked. Spot just pulled me to him, and I knew.

"Katja," Spot whispered into my hair, "he's gone."

I don't know how long I cried into his chest. Suddenly it all seemed so unfair, and I pushed him away.

"Why didn't you let me help him?" I yelled. "I could have—"

"No, Katja, you couldn't have. He was already gone. I am just glad that you didn't see. You can't get pictures like that out of your head. I couldn't let you see." He looked at me with those probing blue eyes, and a part of me knew he was right. I didn't want to listen to that part at that moment, though.

"No, I could have helped him. I could have saved him," I insisted, as if my anger at Spot could somehow help me turn back time. I shoved his chest weakly as I continued, "It's your fault. You didn't let me help him. Why didn't you let me help him? Why didn't you let me? Why couldn't I help him? Why couldn't I . . . " my yelling dissolved into a fresh round of tears, and my hands stopped pounding Spot's chest and instead grasped the front of his shirt. I didn't know I could cry again, and this time I was surprised to see that Spot's eyes were also full of tears. I reached my arms around his waist, and we just held each other for what seemed like forever. Finally, it was my bladder that won the day, and I stood.

"I need to wash up," I rasped, surprised at how rough my voice sounded. Spot just nodded, and I went over to the washroom to clean up. When I returned, the covers of my bed were turned back, and a nightgown was on the bed. I saw Spot in the kitchen and quickly shut the door and changed. I padded into the kitchen, where Spot was pouring a cup of tea for each of us. We drank it silently. When we finished, Spot motioned toward the bed.

"You should sleep," he said.

"Stay?" I whispered. He considered for a moment, looked intently at me, then nodded. We headed back to my bedroom, and I crawled into bed but remained sitting up. Spot pulled off his boots and sat down beside me. I reached over and pulled him close for another hug. He hugged me back, and after a few moments he settled us both back on the bed, not letting go of me. I fell asleep still wrapped against him.


	32. Spot14--Papa!

It was near the end of March when the chaos began. Katja had begun talking about my seventeenth birthday, and I had been looking forward to April 5th for the first time in my life. It sounded like it would mean time alone with Katja, and that was a tradition I had decided I wanted to create for a lifetime. We were talking about potential activities for that day over German sausages, and Red had joined us. That turned out to be a good thing. Mr. Fischer and I soon turned to politics, and I was explaining a point Mr. Donovan and I had discussed at length regarding the governor's recent actions when Katja interrupted us with a glance at her watch.

"Time for me to go, Papa," she said, and we all stood. I shook Mr. Fischer's hand.

"See you tomorrow," I said, and he grinned back at me before giving his daughter the customary hug and kiss. He said something in German, and she answered back before we parted ways.

I knew something was off a moment or two before it actually happened. Some sound registered in my brain; to this day I don't know what it was, but it caused me to turn around in time to see Mr. Fischer's horse spook violently—right into the path of an oncoming trolley. The speed and violence of the crash is one that I had never witnessed before that day, and I knew almost instinctively that the accident was a fatal one, even though the horse was still thrashing on the ground. I also knew that there was no way Katja should be allowed to see the inevitable carnage.

There is something to be said for years of experience fighting; my reactions and ability to process information are lightning-fast. It takes time to describe something, but I took it all in instantly. That's why I was able to grab Katja before she could run over toward what was obviously still a dangerous scene. The horse was flailing, the trolley's passengers were staggering out into the street, and several other vehicles were swerving to avoid the mess. Somewhere underneath all of that was the one person who had been like a father to me.

"Papa!" I heard Katja scream, and I held her fast as she struggled against me.

"Hold her," I yelled to Red, shoving Katja into his arms and trusting he would do just that. I sprinted over to the crash, carefully avoiding the sharp debris pieces. The sight would haunt me forever. Mr. Fischer's mangled body was lying underneath the remains of the seat of his carriage. It was obvious he hadn't suffered. I saw his book underneath a splintered wheel, and some instinct made me grab it and stuff it in my pocket. A police officer and some bystanders were approaching, helping the wounded.

"The horse," I said to the officer, pointing to where the creature, clearly suffering, was still thrashing. He was a danger to all who approached, and the officer, thinking with a clarity I rarely see from bulls, drew his gun and put the animal out of its misery. It was obvious there was little I could do here, and the thought of Katja spurred me to action. I ran back to where Red stood, holding a shaking Katja to his chest.

"Let's get her home," I said, and Red nodded. He firmly put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her sideways so that she was facing her home. He held her tightly against himself, leading her away from the crash site. She stared ahead, and I wondered if she was aware of what was going on. Somehow I doubted it. I used my key to let us in the apartment, and Red led Katja over to her bed and sat her down. She was docile as we removed her shoes, and I went so far as to loosen her collar as she lay there. Fate had been kind; she was asleep before her left boot ever left her foot. I guess shock played a role, too. I left the door of the bedroom cracked so I could hear if she stirred, and once in the main room I turned to Red.

"Get Greasefoot, Ace, Silver, Henry, and Jumps over here," I said, mentally tracking what the next steps were. Keep moving. Keep doing. Don't think about it. "Then come back yourself. This is going to get ugly."

Red nodded, then left. I took a deep breath, ruthlessly shoving the mental image of Mr. Fischer's body out of my head. Okay. We would need to make burial arrangements. Legal arrangements. We would have to go to the bank. The newsies would need to know. And where would Katja go? This was the biggest question in my mind, but I put it at the bottom of the list; I needed to put the other pieces together first in order to answer it. I was just finishing my mental checklist when a knock announced the arrival of the summoned newsies. Silver and Jumps walked in. I sent Jumps to Katja's workplace to arrange emergency days off; hopefully I could keep her from losing her job. Silver headed over to the morgue. I trusted him to handle arrangements, identification of the body, and making an appointment for us the next day. No sooner had they headed out when Greasefoot arrived. I put him in charge of making sure all the newsies—including Manhattan—heard the news. I knew several of the boys would take it hard, but I also knew Greasefoot was the right one to break the news to them if it couldn't be me. Ace arrived next, and I sent him to the bank to make an appointment. A bit of shuffling through documents in the apartment also revealed the name of the family lawyer, so I sent Ace there, too. Then I told him to check in with the Meyer family; I knew he would want to see Ingrid anyway.

Red and Henry had long since arrived by then, for which I was grateful. Henry can be tough to find sometimes; he has a knack for becoming invisible, which is precisely why I wanted him.

"Red, we need someone without a police record to give a statement. You'll pass for eighteen, and you have never had run-ins with the bulls. You go back to the accident scene and do what you can. Henry, you go with him. See if you can learn anything, if you can spot anything that may have come off Mr. Fischer's carriage that would now belong to Cat, and generally keep an eye on the scene. Then keep an eye on the bulls. See if you hear anything important and make sure you got Red's back while you're at it. I'll send Jumps to you as soon as I can," I said.

The boys nodded and headed out, and I wiped my face with my hands. It seemed a lifetime had passed since the crash, but the reality was that it had only been about an hour. My mind had been going so fast that nothing had really registered yet, but in the stillness of the apartment after the boys left, the enormity of what had occurred hit me. I sat on the sofa and exhaled deeply. For almost two years I had led the newsies, but for most of that time I had always had the support of Mr. Fischer. I had been on my own before we got to talking each day, but I hadn't realized how much I had come to rely on his wisdom, his encouragement, and his faith in me. Now I was once again left to fend for myself.

Newsies are no strangers to hardship and loss, and I am no exception. While the loss of my own family was so far back I hardly registered it, we had lost boys over the years; illness, hunger, and the elements are facts of life for newsies, and losses are inevitable. As a result we all have our own way of compartmentalizing loss and grief. I drew on this skill now and did not cry. It was important that I remain strong; Katja and the boys would need me.

The thought of Katja had me worried. I knew that the loss alone could devastate her, but there were practical concerns that might create even bigger problems. The first was where she would go; she couldn't stay here on her salary, even if the state did allow her to do so. She would need a lot of support, both financially and emotionally. Maybe the Meyers could take her in . . . .

I was startled by a knock on the door. It was Jumps, who had returned from his errands. I gave him instructions to hook up with Henry, then sat back down, this time in a chair near Cat's bed so I could be on hand when she awoke. I continued mulling over the options for Cat.

I must have drifted off myself, but there is only so long you can sleep in an uncomfortable position. I stood and stretched, then sat back down, rubbing the back of my neck. The sun was setting. Red reappeared, and I had him take Jimmy for a quick outing while I searched the kitchen for food. Might as well use up what was here if, as I suspected, Cat wouldn't be staying. I managed to eat a meal of assorted goods and even gave some to Red before he headed back to the lodging house. He hadn't eaten all afternoon either.

By this time it was getting dark, and I resumed my vigil at Cat's bed. I hadn't been there long when she sat up, blinking in confusion.

"Hey," I said, walking over and perching on the edge of her bed. I saw the moment she remembered; she stiffened and paled, and for a moment she looked as if she were going to leap to her feet. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she turned to me.

"Papa?" she asked, and I didn't answer. I just pulled her into my arms, and I wonder now if that was for her benefit or for mine.

"Katja, he's gone," I whispered, and then her tears came. She cried briefly, but her tears quickly turned to ones of anger, and she shoved me away and began yelling at me.

"Why didn't you let me help him?" she screeched, and I winced. "I could have—"

Oh, no. No way was she going to blame herself.

"No, Katja, you couldn't have," I said as firmly as I could at that moment. "He was already gone. I am just glad you didn't see it. You can't get pictures like that out of your head. I couldn't let you see."

"No, I could have helped him. I could have saved him," she said in an almost pleading voice. She once again shoved ineffectually at my chest as she began yelling again. "It's your fault. You didn't let me help him? Why didn't you let me? Why couldn't I help him? Why couldn't I . . . " Cat's voice faded out as she gave up on the yelling and slipped back into tears, grasping the front of my shirt.

It killed me to see her like this. I hadn't shed tears at the sight of Mr. Fischer, but seeing the grief of his daughter nearly undid my sharp control. She wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her face into my chest. It seemed an eternity before nature's call forced her up and out of the room. She stood, mumbling in embarrassment, and I took the time to turn down her bed and lay out her nightgown. Even though she had just slept, I hoped that her extreme emotions would allow her that luxury once more; unconsciousness is a kind escape that allows the brain to process information in a safer way. She returned to the bedroom, and I left her to change while I made us some tea. She came out a moment later, and we drank in silence. In the coming weeks I would register that this was the first time I had seen her with her hair down and in a nightgown. I would later realize that she was even more beautiful than I'd thought. In that moment, though, I noticed nothing but her sadness and grief. I just wanted her to drink her tea and fall asleep. I motioned toward her bed.

"You should sleep," I urged.

"I can't," she said, her voice once again taking on that almost pleading quality. My heart constricted as I looked at her. She seemed so fragile. "But I can try," she added after a moment, her voice trembling just a bit. I nodded, grateful she was willing to try to sleep. She looked up at me with trepidation and added in a whisper so quiet I almost didn't catch it, "stay?"

Obviously I wasn't planning on going anywhere, but her nervousness made me realize that she wanted me to stay directly with her, not just here in the apartment. I nodded at her again, then followed her into the bedroom. She crawled into the bed, looking like a lost child as she curled her knees underneath her. I removed my boots and sat at the edge of the bed, but she quickly pulled me to her. I allowed myself the comfort of holding her, knowing that in that moment that she was helping me as much as I was her. I eased onto my back, pulling her with me and tucking her to my side. She curled up against me and almost instantly fell asleep. I sighed softly in relief.

"We'll be okay, Cat," I whispered into the darkness before letting sleep claim me.

I awoke to the sound of a knock at the door. Who was knocking this late? At a quick glance at the clock I realized it wasn't late, but very early. I gently disentangled myself from Cat, who had curled up against me, and opened the door. It was Red.

"Spot," he said, knowing instinctively to keep his voice down. "Henry said to tell you the bulls are coming. They know Katja doesn't have parents. They want to take her to an orphanage."

I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Cat had just lost her father a few hours ago, and now they wanted to take her away? No way. I wasn't going to let it happen. I thought for a moment as I gestured Red inside.

"You're a family friend. You've sent word to her uncle, who should be sending for her this week. You are eighteen, so you're staying with her until then," I said, and I saw understanding on Red's face.

"You'll be . . . ." he asked.

"Hiding. I'm too well known to the bulls." I sighed and rubbed my face. "With any luck she won't even wake up. I'd imagine sleep is going to be pretty hard to come by in the coming weeks for our Cat."

If only I had known what was to come and how prophetic those words would be—but I didn't. We talked over the details of Red's story briefly before I slipped back into the bedroom. Cat looked so peaceful, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into that bed and curl up beside her. I didn't. I sat at the door and listened as I heard knocking.

Red played his part beautifully. I never really had to hide, as the police left without searching the place and, miraculously, without waking Cat.


	33. Katja15--The Day After

I woke up alone. Or maybe not; there were voices in the other room. I headed through the door and saw Spot and Red talking in low voices in the kitchen. Red looked up and saw me.

"Cat," he said, and Spot turned around and came swiftly to my side.

"We need to talk," he said, and he sat me down on the settee. He sat beside me, his hands clasping mine. My mind was still struggling to catch up after the heavy sleep. I hadn't even processed the events of the previous day. Spot, however, didn't wait for my brain to catch up. He just started talking.

"Cat, the police were here. They came to take you away. We were able to fend them off by saying we were waiting to hear from your uncle, but that won't work for long."

I stared at him uncomprehendingly. Take me away? "Why?" was all that came out of my mouth.

"Cat, you're sixteen. That means you are officially an orphan, and the state plans to put you in an orphanage and take your things. Now, I won't let that happen, but I need your help." I just stared at Spot, and after a breath he continued. "We want to be faster than the state. I need your permission though. I was going to send most of the boys over and have them take anything they can over to the lodging house—for now, at least. Then we'll worry about you. For today there are a lot of things that you need to do. So I'll go with you, but I need to know if the boys have permission to take everything in this place that isn't nailed down to the lodging house."

My mind was overwhelmed. Leave my home? Papa's things? And Mama's? I needed to talk to Papa, to hear his advice. But I couldn't. My confusion must have shown on my face, because Spot lifted my chin and gave me that look again—the one where his eyes dig into me. I closed my eyes to block him out, took a deep breath, then looked at him again.

"I know this is hard, Darlin, but I'm here. Let me help you," he said quietly, and after a short pause, I nodded.

"I trust you," I said. My voice was still all raspy. Spot turned to Red and nodded curtly. Red turned to leave, but Spot stopped him.

"Best take the dog with you," he said, and Red nodded again. He put a leash on Jimmy, who was not trained to follow him without one, and left quietly.

"You'll want to wash up and get dressed," he said, and I realized belatedly that I was still in my nightgown. "Take your time to say goodbye to this place; we won't be coming back."

I did as Spot asked, and once dressed I took a few minutes to walk around our tiny apartment, taking in each detail. The wallpaper that was peeling in the corner. The chip in the paint on the doorframe where Mama had once tripped and smashed a bowl of soup into it, spilling the soup everywhere. Papa had laughed so hard that night. The small tub where Jimmy had tried to join me when he was a puppy and had found himself suddenly submerged. The worn spot on the floor where I always rubbed my foot while Mama helped me with my lessons. The notches in the wall charting my growth. My entire childhood . . . . and I would not be coming back. I burst into tears. Spot, who had been giving me space, was by my side in an instant. He pulled me into him. I was surprised that I still had tears left. I let myself cry for a few minutes, then pulled myself together.

"Let's go," I whispered, my eyes sweeping the room one last time. Goodbye, Papa.

I turned and followed Spot into the hall, and he shut and locked the door with the key still around his neck. When we got outside I saw a bunch of the newsboys sitting on a wagon. Red walked over, and Spot handed him the key. I flinched. I hadn't seen Spot without it since Papa had first given it to him. I knew that he had to have loaned it to other newsboys to walk Jimmy when he was a pup, but Spot always had it back before I saw him. Somehow it seemed like one more piece of my life taken away. Spot grabbed my hand, and we walked away. He didn't give me a chance to look back, and in hindsight I'm grateful.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. We went to the lawyer, where we discussed the settlement of Papa's estate. There wasn't much, and Papa had some debts, most notably to Mr. Santorelli. Spot and the lawyer spoke at length about complicated legal matters, but I didn't really understand much of it. Spot seemed satisfied, though. There were some documents to be signed, and I just did what they told me to do. Then it was to the bank, where the entirety of our bank account was cleaned out and given to us in cash. We went to the undertaker and made arrangements for Papa to be buried with Mama and his name added to the headstone we had so recently put up. Most of the cash went for those expenses. Then it was time to see Papa. Spot explained to me that his body had been cleaned up for me to see it. That was the hardest part of the day, and I don't like to think about it. But I was glad I did it; I took some time by myself to say goodbye. Because we wanted to avoid drawing attention to me, there would be no funeral. I was surprised when Spot asked if he could take some time to say goodbye as well, but then I realized that Papa was the closest thing to family that Spot had, too.

By the time we had taken care of all that business it was getting to be late afternoon. We stopped at a small restaurant and had a cheap meal, but neither of us was particularly hungry or talkative. It suddenly dawned on me that I had no home. It hadn't occurred to me when we'd left that morning that I had to have somewhere to sleep tonight. Fear gripped me; where was I supposed to live? And how? Mr. Santorelli would surely have fired me since I hadn't shown up to work for two days. Panic and questions were clouding my mind when Spot spoke.

"We'd best get to the lodging house. The boys will have your room set up by now, and you'll need to settle in before tomorrow. I couldn't get your boss to spare you for another day," he added apologetically.

"I'm staying at the lodging house?" I asked, and he nodded.

"We'll need to sign ya in under a different name. Mrs. Kirby lets me run things, but I also gotta keep the books, and girls aren't technically allowed. Your physical presence won't be a problem, but the record books will." I nodded at this, suddenly nervous. I had always wanted to see Spot's world, but this wasn't how I had envisioned it. "You're going to be Cat Smith from now on. That way nobody can come take ya away when I'm not there."

I just nodded again. Speaking just seemed like too much of an effort. We headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge. There on Poplar Street near the start of the bridge was a brick building with a sign that said "Newsboys Lodging House." Spot led me to the back entrance, explaining that the front was for visitors only and that Mrs. Kirby, the aging woman who was officially in charge of the place, still monitored that entrance, but that boys were supposed to come in through the back. I nodded as we walked in past a ledger. Spot signed his name, and I signed the unfamiliar one of Cat Smith. Spot grabbed my elbow and led me down a dark hallway and up two flights of stairs. The place was well constructed and, while not spotless, clean. The wallpaper was worn and dingy but still hanging well, just as it was at my home. Or former home, I numbly reminded myself. It was almost dark out, and the hallway was not well lit, but I imagine during daylight hours the place was actually reasonably bright. There were a few closed doors, but Spot led me to the far end and into a bedroom.

The room was small, but it faced the alley and had a window that led out to the fire escape. In fact, it was bigger than my old room, and the window was something I had never had. I was surprised to see my own bed and nightstand in there as well as a number of my personal effects. The boys had been busy. There was another door leading to the room we had just passed.

"This will be your room," Spot said. "The room next door is mine. Across the hall is the private washroom, and it's all yours. No hot water, though, so we'll have to figure that out. There is a connecting door to my room, and both doors can be locked from inside this room. The other rooms on this floor are bunkrooms. The floor below has bunkrooms and a lounge. You can spend time in the lounge, but don't let Ms. Kirby see you late at night. The main floor has the school room and the kitchen: that's where the Children's Aid Society serves meals. You can't go down there in the evenings while they're here; that's about five to nine at night. We'll figure out your dinners, but it shouldn't be a problem with your work schedule. The basement has the main washroom for us boys and the laundry; we'll worry about your laundry later, but for now best not to go down there. The rest of your things are in the attic above us."

I nodded, a lump in my throat. This would be my first night away from my home; I had never slept anywhere else. I wanted to ask about breakfast and other routines, but I couldn't seem to make any sounds. That lump effectively silenced me. I must have looked like a guppy opening my mouth like that.

"We get up early, but I'll tell the boys to keep it down. If you need anything at any time, you come get me. I'll be around when you get up in the morning, and I can start showing you around the area, and then I can walk you to work. If you need something and for some reason I'm not here, the closest seller is Lefty, and he and Trip will be just at the end of the bridge. They can help ya or they can find me."

I nodded, still not able to speak.

"Cat, if you can't go to work, you don't have to. We can find you something else. But I think it might help to keep busy." Spot was giving me that intense look again, but my mind was so dead that I barely noticed. I sat down on the bed.

"I'll leave ya alone, now. Wake me if you need anything," he said before kissing me on the forehead and walking out, shutting the door behind him. I was instantly panicked at being left alone and ripped the door open after him. Spot turned back to me, a look of concern and puzzlement on his face.

"I just—" I stopped, not sure what I needed. "Where are you going?"

"The boys will be coming in soon. I like to make sure they all made it back okay and check in with them down in the lounge. I have to make sure the younger ones got to their lessons, and I have to make sure everyone is okay on money. At nights I make my rounds in the neighborhood. Do you want to come down and sit with the boys?" His face was inscrutable as he studied me.

"I—I don't know," I stammered, and I could feel my eyes filling with tears again. I felt so helpless. What was I supposed to do with myself? I was just being a bother to everyone.

"Hey," Spot said gently. "Nobody expects you to be sociable right now. The boys have all lost someone. They're pretty understanding."

Okay, now I really felt rotten. How could I be so sad in the face of boys who had lost as much or more than I ever had?

"I'm sorry," I said, staring at the floorboards. "I didn't mean to feel sorry for myself. I'll pull myself together and come down. If the boys can be strong, so can I."

Spot put his fingers to my chin and brought my gaze up as he had so many times before.

"None of that looking down," he said. "And you don't compare yourself to them. Everyone handles things differently. These guys won't judge you for crying. They all do it—usually to Red because they think I'll judge them for it, but some of them to me—especially before I was the leader. We all cry, especially when we lose people we love." As he spoke, his own eyes filled, and I realized that even Spot cried sometimes. It frightened me more than it comforted me to think of him crying, but mostly it hurt me to see him saddened. I reached over and wrapped my arms around his waist, wanting to comfort him but instead finding comfort in the hug myself.

"Your pa was special to me, you know," he rasped into my hair. I took that in; it made sense, and I realized Spot would miss Papa almost as much as I would. I nodded into Spot's chest.

"So what do we do now?" I asked, not sure how I could go on.

"We keep going. We support each other—the boys, us, your friends . . . " he said.

"So I guess we should go downstairs?" I said, biting my lower lip at the thought of seeing the boys.

"I need to. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Can I just sit downstairs? Maybe in a corner?"

"If you're up to it. If not, don't worry about it," Spot said.

I nodded and followed him down into the lounge. A few boys were there—Legs, Pike, Trug . . . . I headed for an overstuffed armchair in a corner of the lounge. It was early yet, and most of the younger boys were still at their lessons or at dinner. Spot spoke with several of the boys in the lounge, then headed downstairs to the main floor. I later learned that part of his routine included checking the ledger, the jar, and the school room to make sure the boys all made it back safely. I also learned that there was an elaborate check in system in which the bigger boys kept track of the smaller ones and each other so that if someone was missing or in trouble, the chain of command could be notified. There was no formal structure, but the informal system worked well so that Spot could easily keep tabs on the boys without having to speak to each one every night. But that night I knew none of that. I just knew that the older boys were polite and offered condolences, but mostly they kept their distance—something I appreciated. I found an old dime store Western and lost myself in the story.

I don't know what time it was when Roller came over. "Cat?" he said, looking up at me with wide eyes.

"Hi, Roller," I managed.

"Don't worry about your daddy. My mommy will take good care of him in heaven," he said, crawling into my lap to give me a hug.

I don't know why—after all, it was the sort of thing one hears all the time about the departed being in a better place—but it made me feel better. I hugged him.

"Thanks, Roller. That's really nice of your mom to take care of him. But who takes care of you?" I asked.

"Spot," he answered without hesitation. I gave him a small smile.

"So will you take care of me?" I asked him, and he nodded, eyes wide.

"Yeah. But maybe I'll need Spot's help for buying food and things," he said, clearly taking a mental inventory of tasks and skills needed for him to look after me.

"How about I take care of you, you take care of me, and Spot takes care of both of us," I said.

"That sounds good," he responded, wheels still turning. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "but who will take care of Spot?"

"We can both do that," I responded, and he grinned.

"Hey, can you read me a story?" he asked. "My mommy used to do that, but none of the boys wants to do that."

"Sure," I nodded, and he ran off to get a book. Before long I was reading aloud to a group of younger newsies who were piled like puppies at my feet. I hardly noticed the crowd of older boys drifting in and out, shooting craps, playing cards, and generally being boisterous. That is, until Spot came over.

"Time for bed," he said, coming up beside me and laying a hand on my shoulder as he addressed the younger ones. "You can finish tomorrow, but youse got a long day of selling first. Now wash up and get to sleep."

The boys started to grumble, but Spot silenced them with a look before waving his cane and watching them scamper off towards the washroom. "Trug," he called across the room, and the boy looked up at him. "You're on house tonight. Silver, Pike, Legs—watch." The boys nodded, and Spot turned to me. "I am going out to keep an eye on the neighborhood tonight. If you need anything—anything, you hear?—let Trug know. I'll be back in a few hours."

I nodded. "You should get some sleep," he added. "You do have to work in the morning. Trug can send for me." I nodded again. Spot and the boys he had called left, and the older boys settled into card games, headed to bed, or began studying. There was plenty of noise, but it wasn't loud. I grabbed my book and headed upstairs with every intention of going straight to bed.

As I washed up and changed. I could hear voices downstairs, and after closing the door to the hallway and opening the door to Spot's room, I curled up in my bed under the window. Not long after I heard the boys come up. Much later I heard Spot moving around in his room, and after few minutes he settled into his bunk. I don't know how long it was before I fell asleep, but the strange sounds, the unfamiliar surroundings, and the window all contrived to keep me awake for some time. I have to admit that being alone with my thoughts was hardly where I wanted to be. Had it really only been 36 hours since I had been sitting on a park bench with Papa? I may have cried myself to sleep.


	34. Spot15--A Long Day

After the police left, Red and I began discussing and planning. We decided that the best option would be for Katja to stay with us for a bit, and we had plenty of storage space in the attic for her things. Red had just come up with a plan to get a wagon and a bunch of the boys over here when Katja woke up. I led her over to the settee and explained our plan. It was obvious that she was confused-after all, she had been through a lot and had just woken up-but I didn't give her time to process too much. I needed her to keep moving, and I needed to keep moving. Besides, time was short. She looked around in confusion, as if searching for someone. It dawned on me that she wasn't used to making a lot of decisions and that she was searching for her father for advice. I lifted her chin so she would look at me.

"I know this is hard, Darlin, but I'm here. Let me help you," I said, hoping she would understand that I really am good at this stuff and that she could trust me. She seemed to consider for a moment before nodding, and I in turn nodded over to Red before reminding him to take the dog. He would only be a distraction for Katja as she made her last memories here. As she washed up and dressed, I took the time to gather the documents and anything else we would need. When she came out, she spent several minutes in each room, just staring around. She fingered a chip in the doorframe, the ghost of a smile gracing her face as she obviously relived a happy moment. She nearly burst into tears as she looked at the notches measuring her growth, and I couldn't help but feel my own breath catch at that. The notch from nearly two years ago when we'd officially met was two inches below her current height. Had we really grown that much? Here were her parents' hopes for her, carved onto the wall-each notch a testimony to the love that had existed in the time since the prior one, each one speaking of the excitement for a shared future that would never come.

I gripped the tip of the cane in my suspenders tightly as I watched the emotions flick across her face until finally that face crumpled and she burst into tears. I stepped over and drew her to me, holding her as the front of my shirt gradually soaked through with her tears. She cried for some time, and I just held her, trying not to think too much. Eventually the tears subsided, and she pulled back, took a deep breath, and threw her shoulders back.

"Let's go," she whispered, and as her eyes swept the room one last time, I guided her out the door, locking it behind me. Red was just arriving with the boys, so I gave him the key and led Katja away quickly. There were so many things to be done, and if there's one thing I am good at, it's getting things done. Well, that and fighting, but that's not the point right now. I headed over to the family lawyer, posing as her older cousin Tommy. I was so grateful for all I had learned under Mr. Donovan-I was able to make sure the man was fair and honest. As he was a cut rate lawyer with a shifty look, I was glad of it. I couldn't do much about the debt to Katja's boss, but otherwise I was pretty sure most things would be settled quickly. Then we headed to the bank, where I closed out the accounts, talking about Katja's new life with me over in the Bronx. I can't fake a Boston accent, after all, but the Bronx is far enough away from Brooklyn that it makes sense to close out the accounts. There wasn't much in there, but we pulled it all out. It was at the undertaker that things got hard. We paid for Alfred's name to be put on the headstone he had saved so hard to buy and made arrangements for the burial.

Because it was safer not to have a funeral, this last visit, ostensibly to identify the body, would have to serve in its place. I went in first, mostly to make sure it would be okay for her to see him like this, but also to pay my own respects. I won't tell anyone what I said to Mr. Fischer-there were things he and I discussed that were just between us, and I wanted to thank him and get my closure. I will admit that I cried. I was going to miss him so much; he was the closest thing to a parent I had ever really known. Then it was Katja's turn. I stayed with her for a few minutes, and then quietly excused myself to just outside the door. I stood there listening, staying out of the way until Katja kind of broke down. Then I stepped in, and together we waited until she was calm. She said a prayer and a few things in German, and we left.

We had a quiet meal, though Katja hardly touched her food, and then headed back to the lodging house. For me, the familiarity of it was comforting, but it was all obviously bewildering to poor Katja.

"Have you ever spent the night away from home?" I finally ventured, mostly to break the silence that had taken hold. She shook her head, and I began talking, describing the various places I had stayed over the years-the orphanages, the lodging houses, the streets, abandoned places I had found . . . . Mostly I tried to fill the silence. I got little response from Katja, but at least she had an option other than being lost in her thoughts if she wanted it.

Once at the lodging house I showed her where to sign in and our process before taking her up to the small room next to mine. There are a few private rooms here, and none of the boys have wanted to intrude on my space by taking this one, so it's been empty lately. Most of the boys stay in the bunkroom anyway. It's cheaper. Mrs. Kirby doesn't charge me for the private rooms since I do so much, so I figure Cat can just stay here on my dime and pay the bunkroom fee. I gave her a quick rundown of the way things ran around here, and I could see she was trying to speak. Her mouth opened, then closed.

"We get up early, but I'll tell the boys to keep it down. If you need anything at any time, you come get me. I'll be around when you get up in the morning, and I can start showing you around the area, and then I can walk you to work. If you need something and for some reason I'm not here, the closest seller is Lefty, and he and Trip will be just at the end of the bridge. They can help ya or they can find me," I said, hoping that giving her another minute would help. It didn't. She just nodded. It broke my heart to see her looking so lost and so frightened.

"Cat, if you can't go to work, you don't have to. We can find you something else. But I think it might help to keep busy." I looked at her intently as she sat on the bed. "I'll leave ya alone, now. Wake me if you need anything." I walked over and kissed her forehead, then left her to her thoughts. I had only walked two steps when I heard Katja yank open the door I had just closed. I turned and saw the wild panic in her eyes. What-?

"I just—" she faltered, having no idea how lovely the sound of her voice was at that moment. "Where are you going?"

"The boys will be coming in soon. I like to make sure they all made it back okay and check in with them down in the lounge. I have to make sure the younger ones got to their lessons, and I have to make sure everyone is okay on money. At nights I make my rounds in the neighborhood. Do you want to come down and sit with the boys?" I asked, hoping she would. It would help her to be around people.

"I—I don't know," she said, tearing up again.

"Hey," I said gently. "Nobody expects you to be sociable right now. The boys have all lost someone. They're pretty understanding."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to feel sorry for myself. I'll pull myself together and come down. If the boys can be strong, so can I," she said, but her gaze down told a different story. I did what I usually do-put my fingers under her chin and lifted her face to mine. I wanted her to understand.

"None of that looking down," I said. "And you don't compare yourself to them. Everyone handles things differently. These guys won't judge you for crying. They all do it—usually to Red because they think I'll judge them for it, but some of them to me—especially before I was the leader. We all cry, especially when we lose people we love." I realized that my own emotions were getting to me now. She must have seen it, because she moved in to giv me a hug. I rested my chin on the top of her head. "Your pa was special to me, you know," I added, and she nodded.

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"We keep going. We support each other—the boys, us, your friends . . . " I said. It's the same answer I have always given, and it has never been more true.

"So I guess we should go downstairs?" she asked, biting her lip.

"I need to. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Can I just sit downstairs? Maybe in a corner?"

"If you're up to it. If not, don't worry about it," I said. She nodded again-I swear she looks like a marionette with all the nodding she's done today-and followed me downstairs. I tried to let her figure out what to do with herself while I made my rounds. I had missed them last night, so it was important. See, I can't check in with everyone every day, so we have informal teams-two or three older and more reliable newsies assigned to each group. If it's nice out and people want to spend the night on the streets, the team leader knows where they are so the night watch can help keep an eye on them. If they made other arrangements like Ms. Cara's or a friend's, I like to know they aren't missing. Group leaders also help keep the peace in the borough, invoking my name as needed. I was talking to Brown, who assured me that all of his team had made it back that night, and Ace, who told me of a scuffle between a bootblack and one of the younger boys. The bootblack had come away the winner, but Scamp would be alright. Might have to give him some fighting tips. I made a mental note to check in with Scamp. The whole time I kept a subtle eye on Katja. She was reading, her feet curled up under her in the big armchair. Most of the boys were smart enough to leave her alone, and many of them asked me instead about how she was doing.

"She's holding up," I said each time. It became an automated response. The reality was that I had no idea how she was doing-she hadn't told me. But I have learned a few things about loss over the years, and I will say that most of the time the question, while meant well, is annoying at best. I would just have to read between the lines until she was ready to open up.

The lessons were over-the younger ones were streaming upstairs, ready to learn the finer newsie arts of poker and roughhousing, the education the ladies in the Children's Aid Society didn't teach. Most of them like to come and try to talk to me after lessons. I am a bit of a hero to them, and I hadn't been around last night. Roller, though, went over to Katja. I watched from across the room as they talked, then watched him scamper off and return with a book. Well, that was new. Story time. One of those things the littler boys all want, even if they would never admit it to tough old me. It wasn't long before there were a dozen or more smaller boys sitting at Katja's feet, looking up at her eagerly as she turned each page.

I had a lengthy conversation with Silver while Katja read. It seems that Tarface, the leader of the bootblacks after Hide, was having some dissention in the ranks. We discussed at length whether it would cause any problems. A glance at the clock told me it was getting late, and I headed over to the story group and sent the boys off to bed. Then I set the house watch-the newsie in charge of keeping peace and dealing with problems inside the lodging house-and my night watch boys. Four boys wander the neighborhood via the rooftops, ready to step in as needed if there's any trouble. It's rare, but like to know what's going on. It's how we know about things like the illegal cock fights, for example. We're usually out for a few hours and sometimes will hand off a shift to another newsie. Those on watch don't get as much sleep, so I try to rotate so nobody does it more than once or twice a week except me.

It was a mercifully quiet night, and the few hours of fresh air and lonely moonlight on the rooftops did me good. It was here that I finally found a way to grapple with my grief. I would continue to mourn Mr. Fischer for some time, but I took that first crucial step and found my peace on the rooftops of Brooklyn.


	35. Katja16--More Drama

I didn't hear the boys leave in the morning. I like to think that a higher power kept me asleep well into the morning; even the morning sunlight didn't wake me. I found a small tray of food on my dresser; someone had brought me breakfast. I couldn't eat much, but I tried. I spent the next hour organizing my things and trying to feel at home. I explored the lodging house briefly, making sure to stay away from the front desk area. I did look around the corner and spot an older woman reading near the desk, but she didn't notice me. It was around this time that Spot came back. I heard several voices in the lounge and then he appeared in my open doorway. He knocked briefly before entering with a small smile.

"Heya, Cat. Did you find everything okay?" he asked, and I recognized the attempt to keep from asking me how I was.

"Yeah, thanks, Spot. I didn't know what to do with the breakfast tray, though. It's right here." I handed it to him, and he looked down at it. "I know I didn't eat much, but I tried," I said lamely, and he gave me another small smile.

"Ya did great, Darlin. Nobody expects you to be eating a lot right now. But your dog's downstairs, and he's driving everyone mad. I don't suppose you're up for coming down and taking him for a walk?"

How could I have forgotten about Jimmy? I jumped up, feeling guilty, and followed Spot downstairs to the lounge. Red was there playing cards with Ace, and Jimmy was at Roller's feet. He jumped up when I came into the room, a furry whirlwind of whining excitement. I smiled. Yes, I smiled as I hugged him.

"Let's go for a walk," I said to him, and he went even crazier.

"You want company?" Spot asked, and I stopped when I realized I didn't know my way around this area that well.

"I might need some," I said, blushing at my short-sightedness.

"Let's go," he gave me a grin that contained just a hint of a smirk, and we headed outside. It was sunny, even if the late March sunshine wasn't exactly warm. We wandered over to the docks, which were not actually far from the lodging house, and Spot showed me the area. He suggested a walking route for the mornings with Jimmy, and I made mental notes of the landmarks.

"Will Jimmy be able to stay with us?" I asked, worried. Spot smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Jimmy can stay in your room if you want. The lodging house doesn't have any rules about dogs as long as they aren't causing problems. The boys will probably love having him around." Spot looked like he would not let anyone dare to try to take my dog.

"Will they like having me around?" I asked, aware of how much upheaval my presence must have caused already.

"Are you kidding? They are already talking about what a privilege it will be to have someone like you around. A bunch of 'em know you and like you already. That stacks the odds in your favor. The fact that you're my friend stacks the odds in your favor again. They'll get used to you far more quickly than they should. The trick will be helping them remember that there's a lady around," Spot assured me.

I nodded, trying hard to consider how I could adapt and adjust. It was all so overwhelming.

"Listen, Cat, I know you're scared. You have a lot to take in and a lot on your mind. The sheer number of changes to your life would be enough to overwhelm anyone. You just do what you need to do, and you'll feel more confident and relaxed when you're ready. In the meantime, if anyone gives you a hard time, you let me know."

"Thanks, Spot," I said as we headed back to the lodging house. "I guess I need to get ready for work."

"Yeah," Spot agreed. "I'll walk you to work then pick up me afternoon papes. I'll make sure someone is there to pick you up from work tonight, too. It'll probably be me, but it might be one of the other guys."

We headed back and I got ready to go. Spot met me in the lounge, and Jimmy jumped to his feet, ready to accompany me wherever I was headed. "What about him?" I asked, and Spot smiled.

"Roller wanted to take him selling. I figure he's extra security for the kid, and I didn't think you'd mind. Roller sells near the park and will take great care of him. If it's okay with you, I'll take him to the distribution center and hand him over to Roller there."

I smiled, and we headed out to the factory. Muriel met us at the door and whispered urgently, "Mr. Santorelli said to meet him at Ray's café right now." Spot and I glanced at each other and Spot shrugged. Muriel had already shut the door.

"What do you suppose is wrong?" I asked as we walked the two blocks to Ray's. Spot shrugged again, but I noticed his jaw was set and his eyes were roaming the street. His whole body was tense as if ready for a fight, and it made me nervous. We got to Ray's, and there was Mr. Santorelli in a corner booth. He waved us over.

"The police were looking for you at work. They were checking the papers of all the girls," he said by way of greeting. Spot grimaced, and I saw the concern on his face.

"You gonna do something about it?" he asked Mr. Santorelli. His voice had that hard edge again—the one that makes me nervous.

"Calm down, young man. Yes, I have an idea. I was to be switched to day shift tomorrow. Since Katie has worked that before, she can switch back. She may need to find a place to stay until trouble ends. It might be awhile before things settle down. The police were not happy to find her apartment empty."

"Day shift is a great idea," Spot said, "but she stays where she is. It's safe enough." Mr. Santorelli nodded.

"You are probably right, young man. Katie, I will see you early tomorrow?" I nodded, and he put down a dollar. "Order what you wish for lunch. I will cover it for now." He headed out, and I looked at Spot.

"What do I do now?" I asked. Spot gave that impish grin and grabbed the dollar.

"We eat lunch, take the change, and buy a few extra papes," he laughed. I laughed at that, and then I stopped. That was my first laugh since Papa.

"Hey, what do you want to eat," Spot's voice distracted me. I wondered if that wasn't his intent. I smiled and turned my attention to the menu.

The rest of the day was actually pleasant. I went with Spot to the distribution center, which I hadn't seen before, and then went selling with Roller. He seemed to think it was great fun having a rookie like me along, and of course we both had fun with Jimmy. I confess, though, that I was no good at selling newspapers; I was simply too shy. That evening we headed back to the lodging house, and the boys were an absolute riot as they played poker. It was just the distraction I had needed, and this time when I went to bed I was able to fall asleep a bit more easily.

I don't know how long I had been asleep when I felt someone shaking my shoulder.

"Katja," a voice whispered, shaking me again. I opened my eyes, straining to see in the dark. It was Spot, and he put a finger to his lips. There were voices downstairs. Loud ones.

"Bulls," he said. He wrapped my blanket around my shoulders and pushed open the window. "Go out quietly and climb up onto the roof. I'll come get you when it's safe." I was awake now, and I'm sure there was fear in my face.

"Don't worry," he reassured me before shooing me out and then leaving the room. I climbed up onto the roof, trying hard to be quiet. It was cold out here; after all, it wasn't even April yet, and it was the middle of the night. I shivered as I reached the roof, shrugged the blanket off my shoulders, and curled up into it in a corner. I could hear voices in the rooms below and, a few moments later, out on the street. After another ten minutes of silence, Spot appeared out of nowhere.

"They're gone for now," he said. "I put Roller in your bed. Had him tell the bulls that all that stuff was his big sister's. You shoulda seen the performance he put on when they went to look through your things—like they were desecrating a grave or something. Stopped 'em cold. It worked, but I think they may come back."

"So what do I do?" I asked.

"For now? Come back down and sleep. Tomorrow we'll come up with something," he answered. We headed back down the fire escape and this time climbed into Spot's room.

"I left Roller in your bed in case they come back. For tonight you can bunk with me," he said, and I nodded. It was a bit strange to curl up next to Spot for what remained of the night, but I had to say that after the cold of the roof it was a relief to cuddle up to someone warm. I fell back asleep quickly.


	36. Spot16--Looking for Normal

Having left a note and breakfast for Katja, I resumed selling the next day. I can't afford to take too many days off. Even if I can swing it financially, I risk losing the faith of my regular customers. It was surprising how understanding they were, especially later in the shift. Most of them had seen the accident, and some of them had even known the Fischers and seen us at our regular lunch bench. I was asked to pass on so many condolences and received them myself. It was obvious that even those who hadn't known Mr. Fischer personally had respected him from afar, and that made me feel a bit better. The morning edition sold relatively well, especially since I had set lower goals for the day, and I headed back to the lodging house to meet Katja. We took Jimmy for a walk, and then I walked her to work like I often had earlier this spring. That part, other than the route, felt mostly normal, and I think the prospect of a routine put Katja at ease.

"What about him?" Katja asked, motioning to the dog at her heels. We had normally dropped him at the apartment before, but I had an idea. I explained about Roller, and she agreed.

When we arrived and Katja's friend Muriel came out to meet us, we knew something was up. I was immediately on edge. Katja did NOT need this, and quite frankly, neither did I. We headed over to the little cafe, and Katja led me over to a portly man in his early thirties who didn't bother with introductions as he jumped into the reason for the meeting.

"The police were looking for you at work. They were checking the papers of all the girls," he said by way of greeting. Damn. I had hoped that simply finding her gone from the apartment would be enough for us to move on. She really didn't need this now, but at least the guy got rid of them and warned us. He gave me an uneasy feeling, but I have to admit that he stepped up on this one.

"You gonna do something about it?" I said, which probably sounded more aggressive than the guy deserved.

"Calm down, young man. Yes, I have an idea. I was to be switched to day shift tomorrow. Since Katie has worked that before, she can switch back. She may need to find a place to stay until trouble ends. It might be awhile before things settle down. The police were not happy to find her apartment empty."

Well, given what she's been through in the last few days, I wasn't about to send her to stay with anyone unless she wanted to. Besides, the lodging house is safe-girls aren't supposed to be there, after all. And day shift worked well-it actually fit our schedule at the lodging house better. Santorelli seemed to agree, and he left us cash and departed without having eaten anything. I grinned-I love it when people give me money for no reason.

"What do I do now?" Katja asked, and I grabbed the dollar.

"We eat lunch, take the change, and buy a few extra papes," I said, and Katja laughed-a real laugh. It felt so good to hear that, and it must have felt good. She stopped laughing abruptly, and I jumped in quickly.

"Hey, what do you want to eat?" I asked, and she smiled. Good. Small steps.

Katja opted to spend the day selling with Roller and Jimmy. To tell the truth, I think she was embarrassed to try her hand in front of me. I wasn't surprised-as shy as she is, selling isn't really her speed-but I was also glad. Not only is the kid good for her, but I needed to focus on my selling and on the goings on on my turf. I wanted to see if I could earn a little extra-the leftover from lunch didn't do much to make up for the missed sales over the past days, and I needed to see and be seen.

The fresh air and the time spent with Roller and the dog were good for Katja. I suspect she really needs space and the outdoors. That evening a few of the guys spent some time trying to teach her poker, which might even be less her thing than selling newspapers. She has an open expression, and I was pleased to see occasional smiles. Maybe we could find a normal for her that worked. Maybe that normal could include a move forward in our relationship, something I had not really thought about for a few days. Love is a funny thing. When things are calm, my focus is on our relationship-on both of us. When she is hurting, though, my focus is only on her well-being. Nothing matters except that she is safe and happy. She wasn't there yet, but I am hoping she will be soon.

I allowed myself the luxury of not going on watch tonight but heading to bed and falling into an unusually deep sleep. It took Ace shaking my shoulder to alert me to the voices downstairs. That's unusual for me.

"Bulls," he whispered. "Coming to the Lodging House. I think they're looking for Katja," he said. He'd been on watch. I knew there was a good reason I did that, but I didn't have time to think of that now. My mind raced. First get her out, then explain her things. The roof. Okay. I got a poor, bewildered, and frightened Katja out the window and had a flash of inspiration. I ran into the bunkroom and woke Roller. The poor boy was still confused as I dragged him into Katja's bed.

"Bulls," I said once I knew he could register the information. "If they come in, the stuff is your sister's." He nodded, then went to his work. I have to hand it to the kid-he's a natural actor. Learning to sell newspapers at this early stage in life helps. He "fell asleep" so convincingly as I went downstairs to play my own part.

It worked like a charm. Roller had the bulls backing off, he was so convincing. I half believed him myself! Of course, he is just a kid, so is it any wonder he fell asleep almost before the bulls had left? I waited a few minutes before climbing out of my own window to go rescue a likely cold, confused, and frightened Katja.

"So what do I do?" she asked as I filled her in on what had happened.

"For now? Come back down and sleep. Tomorrow we'll come up with something," I said as we climbed back down the fire escape.

"I left Roller in your bed in case they come back. For tonight you can bunk with me," I said, suddenly aware of the nice side effect this little adventure would have. She nodded as she followed me back into my room. I couldn't help but think how right it felt to have her there beside me-how well she fit into my side. She fell asleep almost immediately, and much as I wanted to stay awake and and enjoy it, my own feeling of contentedness meant I also fell asleep quickly.


	37. Author's Note

Author's Note:

I know that many of the previous chapters have been slightly repetitive as the two characters have shared experiences, but at this point they are going to diverge a bit. If you have only been following one or the other character, this would be a good time to switch back to reading both. I should also warn my readers that it gets a bit darker at this point. As if poor Katja hadn't been through enough.

I am trying to toe the line between the T rating and the M rating, but as I am not that familiar with the forum, the genre, or writing in general, I might need guidance. Please let me know if I need to move the story or make minor changes; I am open to input, but I am unwilling to compromise my overall plotline. I would gladly accept beta reader input, but I don't know yet how that works, either.

****Also, a special thanks to those who have reviewed this story, those who have marked it, and those who have otherwise affirmed me thus far. You awake the muse in me and push me to keep going. There is a lot more to come, so those who aren't ready for this to end, don't worry-neither am I!

Thanks for reading, keep the reviews coming, and let me know how I can improve!


	38. Katja17--Hiding

It was a surprisingly welcome feeling to go back to work the next day. There was familiarity in the morning shift, and even Mr. Santorelli's incessant leaning over me to check his reflection in the windows and stroking of my hair didn't bother me too much. I made sure I stayed busy, and I only cried once.

It was toward the end of my shift when the police showed up. I didn't hear them, but Mr. Santorelli came running up to me.

"Go out the back," he whispered, shoving a key into my hand. He gave me an address and an apartment number, reminded me not to be seen, then hurried back to the front of the factory. I bolted toward the back door, looked around, and saw a fairly quiet street with no cops and nobody I knew. It wasn't far to the apartment, and I found myself in a small and somewhat dingy apartment on the top floor of the building. There was a strange smell I couldn't place, and a small bed was in the corner of the main room while a cramped bedroom was off to the side. There was only one window, and that was in the kitchen. This made the whole place dark and a bit forbidding, but I reminded myself that I was lucky to be there. Some of the boys had told me how horrible some of the orphanages and other situations could be. I sat on the bed and looked around, feeling very alone and very afraid. I must have sat there trembling and looking around for an hour before Mr. Santorelli showed up. He knocked on the door and called softly to me. Right-I'd forgotten I had his keys.

"Katie, I thought they would find you," he said, grabbing me into one of those crushing hugs and rubbing my back. He released me, but his hands clasped mine.

"I am thinking it is safer for you to stay here for awhile. No work. Stay away from the windows, too. This will blow over in a few weeks, and until then this is the safest place for you." I nodded.

"But I was supposed to meet Spot," I said.

"He was there at the end of your shift. I told him I woud look out for you tonight, and he agreed you would be safer here. He sent a message, too-said you should lay low for now and that he would let you know when it was safe to come back out."

Okay. Spot would have things under control. I would wait it out here. But it would be boring and lonely. "What about my things?" I asked.

"I will have your Spot take care of that tomorrow," he said, and I nodded again.

"Katie, I know the last few days have been hard," Mr. Santorelli said, sitting beside me and placing his large arm around my shoulders. "Just remember that ol' Antonio is here for you." He squeezed me to him, kissing my cheek. It made me uncomfortable, but I supposed I should be grateful, so I let him.

I spent the evening making dinner for the two of us. I told him what had happened the prior night, and he said it was good I was there. Then he left for awhile, saying he was taking care of a friend's apartment who was away for a few weeks. He returned a bit later and handed me a book-Pride and Prejudice. I love that book. When it came time for bed, Mr. Santorelli motioned me into the washroom first. I was grateful, and as I headed back toward the bed, he grabbed me into a tight hug. He rubbed my back for a few minutes, then kissed my forehead and wished me a good night. I tumbled into bed, and he headed into his room, and in spite of my unease at the new place I nodded off.


	39. Spot17--Searching

After ensuring Katja got to work okay, I spent the day brooding as I sold. It was highly unusual for the cops to show up at the lodging house for any reason, and for them to come precisely there to look for a girl was even more odd. Something about the whole thing bothered me. I spent all day wondering what had sent them to the lodging house. Who had known she was there? Why did they bother looking for this orphan when there were so many of us in Brooklyn? I went through scenario after scenario in my head, and nothing made sense. I sold a bit more during the morning edition and just a handful of the afternoon edition. I wanted to pick up Katja. I know the police-after a day or two they won't have the time or energy to look for a runaway. Katja would be forgotten to them in no time. I just needed to stay by her side and keep her safe for a day or two.

I grabbed a quick lunch, then headed over to the factory where Katja worked. The day shift folks were leaving, but I didn't see her among them. Her friend Muriel, however, spotted me and waved me over.

"Are you Katja's friend Spot?" she asked, clearly nervous.

"Where is she?" I said, panic rising in my throat.

"The police searched the place again today. She was able to slip out the back."

"Where did she go?" I demanded. Honestly, I wondered where she COULD go.

"I don't know," Muriel responded, and the look she gave me convinced me she really didn't know. I nodded, then marched over to Mr. Santorelli, who was just locking his office.

"Where's Katja?" I demanded.

"She slipped out when the police showed up," he said. "I don't know where she is, but she should be at work tomorrow, I think." He shrugged, and I glared at him. I didn't trust that man.

"If you hear from her, tell her she needs to come back to the lodging house," I ground out. I spun on my heel and ran out of the factory. I had to find her, and for that I needed help.

When I give an order that says get back to the lodging house immediately, it happens quickly. However, it still takes time. Brooklyn is a big borough. I thought I would go crazy in the two hours I spent hunting down newsies, spreading the word, and getting everyone together. In that time I did find Brown and Legs and sent them to follow Santorelli home. They didn't know why, but they did as I asked. By late afternoon, I had most of the boys together. Greasefoot and Red got everyone quiet, and all the boys stared at me expectantly.

"Katja is missing," I said, and there was a buzz of noise as the boys reacted. Greasefoot had everyone silenced in moments, though. Good kid.

"Santorelli said she left his place last night to come here. Nobody has seen her. I want everyone to keep their eyes peeled. Ask around. Tricks, Trug, Speedy, I want you guys to spread the word. I want every newsie, bootblack, street kid, and factory girl in New York looking for her. Henry, Silver, Mole I want you to keep your ears to the ground with the bulls and the orphanages. The Refuge and the morgues, too. Everybody helps. Everybody looks. Everybody asks around. Talk to your clients, the shopkeepers, the schools. Leave no stone unturned in your selling area until she is found, got it?" There were nods as the boys started thinking about how they could find Katja. "Ace, Pancho, Red, Goldie, stay back. Everyone else, get out there. Keep selling, but start looking."

The boys cleared out in a buzz of noise. I knew they would look because I told them to, but I also knew they would look because they adored Katja.

"Goldie, you're our in with the dames of the town. I'm counting on you to help us out," I said to the blonde girl in front of me. She nodded seriously. I remembered telling Katja that Goldie was no lady. Well, it was true, but she was loyal and fierce. "Ace, talk to Ingrid. The Meyers may have ideas or have heard something." Ace nodded as well.

"Red, Pancho, I need you to help Legs and Brown. I want you to trail Santorelli and to check his apartment. Make sure she really isn't there," I said. Both boys nodded, and I gave them all a curt nod of thanks. They took their cue and left, leaving me alone-but not for long. I heard a sniffling noise and turned around. Roller was standing behind me, tears in his eyes.

"Is Katja going to be okay?" he asked, sniffling. "You'll find her, won't you, Spot?"

"I'll do my best, kid," I said. He threw his little arms around my waist, and suddenly he was sobbing into my shirt. I pulled him over to the sofa and sat him down.

"Look, Roller. We have everyone helping. We are going to find her. It just might take time. In the meantime, I have a special task for you," I said, and he stopped crying and stared up at me. "I need you to look after her dog. Take him with you when you sell. Make sure he gets food and exercise every day and give him attention. I'll make sure there is dogfood here for him, but I am going to be busy looking for Katja and need to know that her dog is in good hands. Can I trust you?" He nodded, eyes wide and serious.

"I'll make sure that when she gets back, Jimmy looks the best he's ever looked," he said, and I nodded.

"Good. Now get going. You probably still have some papers left to sell," I said, and he jumped up. He called the dog, picked up his small stack, and headed out, leaving me alone. Well, I certainly wasn't going to sit here! I headed straight over to Ms. Cara's to talk to the girls there. Nobody heard the dirty gossip like those girls, and I wasn't about to let that fount of potential information go untapped. No, I needed everyone in Brooklyn.


	40. Katja18--At Santorelli's

Warning: This chapter contains adult themes that may be disturbing to some readers. If you have read up to now, you probably have a good idea of what is coming.

Mr. Santorelli woke me early the next morning, stroking my arm. "Good morning, Katie," he said. "Come, let us get some breakfast and then I'm off to work, eh? I will meet your Spot and speak with him. I will be back around dinner time," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Santorelli," I mumbled as I nodded glumly. This was lonely. I felt out of sorts in a strange apartment, on a strange bed, and with this sense of foreboding hanging over my head. A few hours outside with my friends at work would have helped. I kept the curtains drawn in the kitchen as I spent the day puttering around the apartment, and I did spend a good deal of time cleaning. Maybe I could open the window this evening to help air the place out. I tried to read, but I needed to stay physically busy. It seemed like an eternity before Antonio, as he'd insisted I call him, returned, carrying another book with him. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I'd seen Spot reading it and knew it was becoming a favorite of his; he'd intended to loan it to me when he finished. There was also a bag containing a nightgown and a change of my clothes.

"Your Spot and I agreed that you should stay inside here until things settle down a bit. He has people who know the streets, and he will let us know when it is safe for you to return to work. For now, though, let us make some dinner," Antonio said as I fingered my novel.

I stood to help him. It was the least I could do. I remembered what Papa had said about doing as I was told, and it was awfully nice of him to let me stay here. We made some pasta, something his mother had taught him how to cook, and he even brought out a bottle of wine to share. It seemed extravagant to me, but I enjoyed it. Antonio was being incredibly friendly and talkative, and that helped after the long, lonely day. I was feeling a bit better, but my head was a bit woozy and my face a bit flushed.

I stood shakily to clear the dishes, and I was surprised to find Antonio right behind me as I set them down. He turned me around, and led me over to my bed.

"Come, Katie. We can do those another time. For now let us just enjoy each other's company," he said as he sat beside me, his hand stroking my back while his other came up to stroke my cheek. I felt a bit uncomfortable at this, but I just kept telling myself that I needed to do as I was told and make my boss proud. I nodded and looked down at my lap, where my hands were fidgeting nervously.

"It's alright," Antonio said, pulling me close into him. He kissed my forehead again, and then tipped my face up and kissed me. I was too surprised and my brain was too sluggish to really process what was happening as he kissed me, and his hands began to wander over my body. I moved to push him away, but somehow my body was uncooperative and uncoordinated. Still, he pulled back for a moment.

"Katie, it's okay. Of course you are upset, but you must understand that since you cannot work and cannot pay me the money your father owed me, it puts me in a precarious position. However, there is something you can do for me. Just be a good girl for Antonio," he urged.

My head was spinning as he pushed me to lie back on the bed.

"Now, you go on and make your new boss proud. Do as you're told and finish everything."

"Katja, sex is just that. Sex. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone does it. These girls just do it for a living. Everyone else hides it. Just relax."

"It really isn't a big deal once you've done it a time or two."

I tried listening to the voices in my head, but it was so hard when I so disliked what Antonio was doing to me. I didn't like his hands on me or the way he pulled my clothes off. I didn't like his scent or the way he kissed me. It hurt. It hurt, but I just kept telling myself that it was just sex and that I needed to be a good girl. I cried the whole time.


	41. Spot18--Where is she?

Where the hell was she? I went to the factory that morning, Lefty in tow. Maybe she had gone to Muriel's? But why didn't she want to come back to the lodging house? I had skipped selling the morning edition to arrive at the factory well before the morning shift. I saw Muriel coming up the street and confronted her.

"Where's Katja?" I demanded, and she shrank back. Maybe I shouldn't have been so belligerent, but my worry was making me a bit gruff.

"I don't know," she pleaded.

"When she shows up, let the newsie outside know," I barked at her, and she nodded. As I watched her retreating back, I looked around the street for Santorelli. I saw him headed up the street and turned to confront him.

"Where is Katja?" I demanded once more, and he just looked at me blankly.

"I expect she will be here soon. If not, she's fired," he said simply. I glared at him again. Legs had reported back to me last night that Santorelli had entered a building down the road and had not left. They didn't know which apartment was his, but by god we were going to find out tonight. Sighing in frustration, I left the man alone and continued to stalk up the street, looking for her. After an hour or so, it was obvious she wasn't coming. I left Lefty there with a promise that he would be relieved in a bit, then headed back toward Katja's old apartment I was nearly there when Brown ran into me.

"I did what you asked, Spot. I trailed that man this morning when he left. I even managed to see him locking a second floor apartment. I snuck in, but there was nobody there," he said. I nodded. I didn't need my boys arrested for breaking into an apartment, so the fact that he had done so told me how concerned he was for Katja. Now if only we could figure out where she was.

That night I went into Katja's room and stared around forlornly. I picked up some of the clothes that had been strewn around the room, folding them neatly and putting them away. I didn't remember her being so messy, but at that moment I didn't really care. I didn't even bother to look for the copy of Tom Sawyer I had set on her bed while she was at work yesterday . . . .


	42. Katja 19--Time To Go

We soon fell into a predictable pattern. In the morning we would have breakfast. He asked that I clean the apartment while he was gone and stay away from the window. Then he would come home and we would have dinner. Usually he would bring me a paper and tell me that Spot sent his regards. Often he would go downstairs to the neighbors' apartment for a few hours to clean the place, leaving me to read the paper. He would come over to my bed most evenings before retiring for the night. He often crushed me to his chest in hugs, and I hated that most of all.

The thing that sustained me was the thought of Spot and of Papa. Spot needed me to be strong and to stay hidden. Every time Antonio came to my bed, I retreated into my own thoughts. Mostly I thought of Spot. I locked all the emotions—the pain, the fear, the disgust-into a bottle and assured myself instead that I needed to do this for Spot. I needed to be strong.

I liked the hours when Antonio was at work. I liked reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I had heard of Mark Twain, but I had not read this book. I loved it; I loved the adventure and the impish spirit and the creativity that was Tom Sawyer. In a lot of ways he reminded me of Spot—always getting his way, doing things his own way. I missed the freedom and spirit of Spot and his newsboys.

By now spring was in full bloom, and I was miserable. I was trapped in this apartment. Every day I had asked Antonio when I could return to work, but apparently the police were still looking for me. He said they had visited the factory two days ago and the lodging house the night before that. He figured a few more days, and he promised that as soon as Spot thought it was safe I could leave. I was getting awfully tired of being cooped up and dreaded Antonio's regular visits to my bed, but I figured Spot must know what he was doing. I had missed Spot's birthday, and I asked Antonio to deliver a letter to him. In it I begged him to get me out of here.

I spent three weeks living in fear and frustration before I finally became bold enough to look out the window. Down below, I spotted a police officer. Antonio told me that the man was frequently outside during the day, looking for me. It shook me to my core. It was another two weeks before I decided that I'd had enough. I would rather have an adventure like Tom Sawyer and end up in an orphanage than stay here. I had been at Antonio's for nearly five weeks now. So it was that I planned my departure.

One night after Antonio had returned to his own bed, I crawled out, throwing my one change of clothes and the Twain book into a pillowcase. I crept as quietly as I could out of the apartment. It was dark, so I had to move slowly to avoid bumping into things. My heart was thumping in my chest so loudly I was sure Antonio could hear it, but I made it to the doorway and slowly undid the deadbolt. The little click as the latch opened and the creak of the door seemed to ring through the night. I listened to be sure Antonio hadn't woken, closed the door as softly as I could, and headed down the building stairs. It was quiet, and it made me nervous. I had always tried to avoid going out at night since that incident last summer. Still, the fresh air beckoned, and I tried to be brave like Tom Sawyer.

When I stepped outside, the enormity of my predicament hit me. I needed to go—where? I couldn't bring trouble to the boys, and I knew Spot wouldn't be impressed that I had disobeyed him. Where to go? Was there anywhere in Brooklyn . . . ?

And then it hit me. No. I needed to leave Brooklyn. I had no idea where I was headed, but I had to start by crossing the river. I bolted for the bridge, nervous about being outside like this. It was so dark and cold. I stopped briefly to put on the shoes in my bag. I hadn't been wearing them for fear of waking people in the building, but now that I was out of sight I knew I needed shoes. I was still in my nightgown, but at least I could walk. Well, sort of. I was quite sore from Antonio's visits to my bed, but it was manageable. I would just have to figure it out.

And so it was that I ended up in Manhattan. I found an alley and quickly changed from my nightgown into my only real clothes, then summed up my situation.

Okay, this was bad. I was lost. I had no idea where I was. I had a sack with a book and a nightgown, no money, and nowhere to go. I was hungry. I needed to avoid the police at all costs. The sun was coming up, and my fear and exhaustion overwhelmed me. I found a park and headed in among the trees, found a soft spot, and curled up. I have no idea how long I slept, but it must have been several hours. It was midday when I woke, still hungry, feeling rumpled, and scared. I headed down the next street. After a few hours of walking I found a neighborhood full of hiding places. This would work for tonight. I was still hungry, but at least I had a quiet and hidden place to sleep. Curling up in the fading daylight, I tried to find a comfortable position. The gnawing in my stomach was relentless, and it was matched by the gnawing in my head that I could go back to Antonio.

No. The bed there might be more comfortable, but I liked this better. Sharing with him had been unpleasant and had made me feel dirtier than I felt now. I remembered what Spot had said about sex, but living with Antonio made it feel like it was a big deal. I knew that was just my perception and that I was ungrateful, but somehow I felt like this was better than going back. I reminded myself that Tom Sawyer seemed to think adventures were fun, and this was my adventure. I wasn't having fun, but at least things were better than they had been with Antonio, no matter how wrong it was to think that.


	43. Spot19--Dying

Six weeks. We have been looking for six weeks, and not a soul has seen or heard from Katja. I have exhausted everything I know. Red and I even broke into that apartment again while Santorelli was at work one day, and there was nothing there-no sign that Katja had ever been there. Nobody in the building could remember seeing her. We spoke with the folks at the factory, searched her old neighborhood, and spoke with the people at her old school. We had kept up with police reports and morgues. The Meyers even took out an ad in the paper-best selling day of the year as every newsie in Brooklyn sold hard and drew every customer's attention tot he ad. I spoke with Mr. Donovan and even mentioned Katja's disappearance in vague terms in a letter to the governor, all to no avail. We were beyond baffled. Many of the boys assumed she had skipped town, but Ingrid, Red, Roller, and I knew better-there was one factor that had me sure she was still in New York. Jimmy. Nothing in the world could have made her leave him voluntarily. The ony thing I didn't do was report the apparent break in. Had Katja come, taken her own clothes and the book, and left? Had someone else? I put Roller and the dog back in that room with strict orders to come get me if anyone tried to come in, but nobody ever did.

As April dragged into May, my helplessness and frustration were boiling over. I did keep up my selling and resumed my studies, mostly for distraction, but I was surly and unapproachable more often than not. My reputation, already bigger than it needed to be, grew to unreasonable and epic proportions, but I hardly noticed. I focused on information. I kept Katja's room clean and kept up the Fischers' grave. I did one other thing-I bought that cloak I had been meaning to buy for Katja and hung it on the peg by the back door. For some reason, seeing it hang there every day waiting for her kept me sane, but I didn't know how much longer I could keep this up.

Gradually, hope faded into numbness. I was still hopeful, still vigilant, and still working tirelessly to find her. However, I felt like a part of me-the part that she had awoken in me-was dying. I needed Katja, and her absence was slowly killing me.

AN: Thanks for the continued reviews. They keep me motivated and make me feel like someone cares about Katja as much as I do!


	44. Katja20--Wandering, Lost

I spent the next few days wandering around. I got lucky and found an apple that had fallen off a passing cart once, and I found a soup kitchen serving warm meals. Unfortunately I got lost just after leaving and was unable to return to it. Occasionally I would find discarded food in trash cans. By now I had no idea where I was; I had had no idea just how big and confusing New York could be. I was tired and afraid, and I was beginning to wonder if going back to Antonio might not be the best option. I had managed to hide well enough at night, but I wasn't sure that could continue. I spoke with nobody, and I kept my head down during the day, and I found the safest, warmest places I could at night. Thankfully in mid-May the weather in New York is pretty mild, and I was lucky. It only rained once, and I had found a relatively dry spot after constructing a rough lean-to out of debris in the alley. I even took the opportunity, in the dark of night, to try to use the rain to wash up and wash out my clothes. It didn't work too well, but it still felt better than nothing.

I had been out on my own for over a week when I found myself near a park again. Parks tended to be comfortable but not very secure for sleeping, I had learned. I headed instead to a nearby alleyway and crawled in between some crates. By now I was so dirty that I blended in well. I fell asleep reasonably well in spite of the cold mist and the ever-present hunger, but a loud bang woke me just as the sky was lightening a bit. I bit back a scream as I sensed something was nearby. It took me a moment to realize that a cat had jumped onto the lid of the metal trash can near my head and that was what had woken me.

"Thanks again, dollface," a male voice said just beyond the edge of the alley. I froze, then saw a man leaving a building.

"Come again, handsome," a female voice cooed, and something about that voice was familiar. It was still nearly dark, but it was obvious it was going to start raining, and the clouds would delay the dawn a bit. I puzzled over the voice, and then it hit me. This was Minnie, whom I had met New Year's Eve. As I lay there waiting for dawn, the sky opened up and it began to pour. Lightning split the sky. There would be no dawn today—just the slate grey of a stormy spring day that never truly got light. I shivered, both from cold and fear, as I considered my options.

A job. That's what I needed. I needed a job where I could earn money and maybe get a place to live and some food. I needed a job that kept me away from the police. And I needed it now.

The city was waking up. I saw a few more men leave the house where Minnie was, and I finally screwed up my courage. The girls on New Year's had seemed so confident, so easygoing, and so alive. That was what I needed. After all, I had survived sex before. I could do this. I walked up to the house and knocked on the door. A girl I didn't know opened the door wearing only a robe.

"Hi. I was wondering if you had a job for me?" I gasped out between my chattering teeth.

"Come in," she said with a strange smile. I stepped inside and was pleasantly surprised to find myself in a cozy sort of lounge with a roaring fire in the grate.

"Have a seat," the girl said, gesturing toward a chair near the fire. I sat down gingerly, mindful of how wet and dirty I was. "You ever had sex?" the girl blurted out, and for a moment I was taken aback. Then I remembered how confident the girls had been at New Year's, and I resolved to play the part.

"Sure," I answered with all the bravado I could muster, glad at least that I didn't have to lie.

"I'm Pearl. What's your name?" she fired at me.

"Uhhh—Ingrid. Ingrid Smith." I blurted the first name that came into my head. I couldn't use my real name if the cops were looking for me.

"Okay, Ingrid. You ever been a working girl before?" Pearl asked. I shook my head, but I kept my chin up.

"It's simple. We can put you up in a room of your own. The first night what you make is yours. After that it's a split. Half goes to the house, and you keep half, but if you don't make the minimum each month, the house takes more. You buy your own food and your own drinks, but you get to use the kitchen. If you have a problem and need help, call the bartender. Joe or Ralph will throw out your client, but you'll probably have to refund him, so be sure you really want the guy gone before calling them. If you aren't bringing in enough by the end of the month, the house renegotiates the percentages so that your room is covered. But for today, I'd say let's get you cleaned up and get you some food. Then I suggest you take a nap. We'll give you one or two of the easier customers for tonight to get you started—maybe some of the younger boys or some of our trusted regulars. They break in new girls all the time. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." She stood, gesturing for me to follow.

Pearl led me to a small kitchen. She made tea and some buttered bread with jam. "Here, eat this while I draw your bath. You're going to need to be cleaner for the customers." She smiled kindly, then left the room. I wolfed down the bread and butter, and the tea warmed me up in spite of my still soaked clothes.

"Now then. You take a bath, and I'll wash your clothes. I'll bring you a robe to wear and then show you to your room."

"Thank you," I said, smiling genuinely at the girl. Pearl grinned back.

"No problem, honey. Somebody did the same for me once." She picked up my clothes where I had shed them near the small metal tub. "Say, where you from?"

"Brooklyn," I answered without thinking, leaning back into the warm, sudsy water and closing my eyes. Where on earth had they gotten warm water?

"You must know Spot," she said in surprise, and my eyes snapped open.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, suddenly fearing I had placed my friend in danger.

"Easy, honey. Everyone in Brooklyn knows Spot. He don't come around here much, though. I know Minnie wishes he would. Did he send you this way?"

"He doesn't know I'm here," I said. "It's better this way."

Pearl nodded. "Well, you just enjoy your bath. I'll clean up your clothes and bring you that robe," she smiled.

"Thank you," I murmured as I settled back into the bath.


	45. Spot20--Message

It was about mid-May when Boots showed up. It was early, and I was selling in my usual area in spite of the rain, but when I saw him, I jogged over to meet him. Something was up if he had come all the way from Manhattan. A small hope sprang up in me, but I refused to acknowledge it; I couldn't face crushed hopes again.

"Spot," he gasped, out of breath from the running. "Pearl over at Ms. Mina's sent me. She says a girl named Ingrid Smith showed up-says she's from Brooklyn but didn't have your permission to be there. She thought you would want to know." I nodded at him, my mind racing. Ingrid Smith? I only knew one Ingrid . . . Katja! That hope leapt up in me again, and before Boots knew what was happening, I had dropped my papes and was sprinting toward Manhattan. The rain was picking up, but I hardly noticed as I crossed the bridge and ran through the East Side streets to Ms. Mina's.


	46. Katja21--Confused

When you've been wandering around, hungry, and dirty for a several weeks, it's surprising how much a bath and a meal can wipe you out. Pearl introduced me to Mina, an older lady who, according to Pearl, acted as the head of their group. Pearl explained that Mina wasn't around all the time and that the girls mostly helped each other out. Most were asleep or still with customers, so she said she'd introduce me later. Then she showed me to a dimly lit room with heavy drapes and a big, soft-looking bed. I was asleep almost instantly.

I must have slept all morning. It seemed I had been doing a lot of that lately—sleeping. But this time I slept soundly and without interruption almost for the first time since Papa had died. When I woke it was dark, but a quick glance outside told me it was just the dark of a stormy day. It was still raining. I sat up and spotted my clothes hung out to dry in the adjacent washroom. They would never be the same, but for now they were still wet. There were some clothes laid out for me, and I put them on gratefully. Then I headed downstairs into the lounge, where I heard voices.

"Katja!" a familiar voice startled me, and I saw a dripping Spot standing near the fire talking to Pearl. He crossed the room in three swift strides, wrapping me in a wet bear hug and crushing me to his chest.

Something inside me snapped. It was so much like what Antonio had done, and I felt the wild, desperate need to be free of the arms around me. I needed to run away. I was being crushed into a ball. The world was contracting around me, and I felt trapped. I began thrashing and shrieking, and Spot let me go in surprise.

"Damn," I heard a female voice mutter behind me. I couldn't make meaning of the sound, though, as the panic that had risen in me continued to assert its dominance over my mind. I backed to a wall, frantically shoving at invisible enemies as my legs gave way.

"What the hell? Cat, it's me" I heard a voice say, but I couldn't respond to it. I felt the male presence moving toward me, and I needed it to stop. I crouched down, squeezed my eyes shut, and clamped my arms over my head to protect myself. A hand touched me, but I swatted it away. The crushing feeling in my chest was threatening to overwhelm me, causing me to curl into an even tighter ball.

"Spot, STOP!" The words were uttered with such force that the whole room froze. I don't know that anyone had ever spoken to Spot in that tone, and the unfamiliarity of it all caught everyone by surprise except the speaker. She stepped into my field of vision, effectively blocking out the rest of the room as she knelt in front of me. I was wheezing, trying to get air into my lungs and to escape that intense crushing feeling. The dizziness slowly subsided, and I recognized Emma.

"Cat, I'm going to touch your arm," she said, and I nodded. The moment she touched me, I felt calmer. The ice in my veins was still overwhelming, but my peripheral vision was slowly returning. "Sweetie," she continued, "can we go upstairs to your room?" I nodded, and she helped me stand from the crouch I had taken. I heard rustling behind me as if people were moving as we headed up, but Emma gestured something and the person or people stopped. She half-led, half-carried me back to the room and sat me on my bed.

"I'm going downstairs to get you some tea. Sit here and relax for a bit. Nobody will come in here except me, okay?" I nodded, and she left. She returned a few minutes later with tea. By this time I was feeling a bit calmer, even if I didn't really understand what had caused my desperate need to flee the room. I was confused, and to be honest, more than a bit embarrassed by what had transpired. Emma regarded me calmly, then spoke.

"Sweetie, you told Pearl you've had sex." It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded anyway. "Did you want to?" she asked, and I finally looked up in my confusion.

"I—I mean, I—I couldn't really say no to him," I stammered. "I had to do what he said, right?"

Emma nodded.

"Where was this? We've all been wondering where you were," she said. I was confused by that; had she come by? Hadn't Spot told her where I was?

"I was at Mr. Santorelli's like I was supposed to be. Well, until a few weeks ago. I didn't like it, so I left," I said-at least, I think that's what I said. My mind was so garbled by this point that I can't say for sure.

"You've been on the streets since then." It was another statement, but again I nodded confirmation.

"So why are you here now?" she asked gently.

"I needed a job," I said, confused. "I thought I could do this one. I didn't expect to see Spot here is all," I said, hoping desperately she wouldn't turn me away. I needed the job.

"Oh, sweetie, didn't you know he came over here for you?" she said.

"That makes no sense," I said, my mind trying to process what she was saying. After a long pause, I added "So do I have to go back down to him?" She said he was here for me. I had no idea if Spot was supposed to be a client, but I was too confused and embarrased to ask outright. I didn't think so, but I was so confused by this time that anything was possible. Mostly I was afraid, though-afraid of the violent reaction I'd had, afraid to be turned away, afraid of this new life that had somehow found me, afraid of Spot's judgment and anger, afraid of the police . . . .

"Not if you don't want to," she said, then paused for a bit. "I need to see to things downstairs-make sure they're all okay down there. There seems to have been some mix up. Drink your tea, and I'll come right back and we'll talk some more, okay? You didn't do anything wrong."

I nodded and she disappeared again. I was confused. What had happened? Why was Spot here? What was I going to do? A few moments later I heard a yell and what sounded like a heated argument, but I couldn't make out any of the words. It subsided, but it was still awhile before Emma returned.

"Cat, Spot told me a bit about what happened. How you went to live with your boss and suddenly disappeared. Was it your boss who hurt you?" Emma's voice was gentle.

"He didn't hurt me. At least, not that much. He just wanted something in return for keeping me safe. I mean, it hurt, but it's supposed to, right?" I said.

"Did you love him?" she asked.

"No, of course not!" I exclaimed vehemently.

"So you didn't want to have sex with him?" Emma pressed, and I shook my head.

"No. But I had to. He was protecting me, and he said it was only fair since I couldn't pay him," I explained. "So it wasn't like he forced me or anything."

"Oh, honey," Emma said. "That's not how it works."

"But I just—" a sharp knock interrupted me.

"Cat, please let me come in," came Spot's voice from beyond the door.

"He really wants to talk to you. Do you want to see him?" Emma asked me earnestly.

"I—just to talk?" I asked, flushing.

"He's pretty perceptive. He saw you panic down there. He won't touch you," she said gently. "Do you want to talk to him?"

I wasn't sure. I had missed him so much, but I was afraid—of my reaction, of what he might think of me, of so many things. But I couldn't avoid him forever. I took a deep breath to steady myself, then looked at Emma. "Yes. I just don't want him to hug me." I said, and she nodded.

"I'll be nearby," she said, and I smiled gratefully. She opened the door, but before Spot could rush in she stopped him with a hand to his chest. She murmured into his ear for a few moments, and he listened intently, even though his eyes stayed on me. Then he nodded at her, and she brushed past him into the hallway, swinging the door mostly but not completely shut. Spot took a deep breath, then sat down on the chair opposite the bed where I was sitting.

"Cat, thank God you're alright," he said softly. "We've been worried sick."

"Why?" I was surprised. I thought he wanted me to stay hidden at Antonio's. I'd even sent him letters, and Antonio gave him regular updates. Why would he worry?

"You bolted from your job, then quit showing up to work. What happened?"

"I was hiding out like you told me," I said, confused. "Antonio said the police were still looking for me and that they kept searching work and the lodging house, so I had to lay low. He said you wanted me to stay there and hide out. I even gave him letters for you."

"I never got them. We had no idea where you were. I even went to his apartment, but nobody was there. I followed the man home every day for weeks and had newsies stationed outside the building up until a few weeks ago. We were looking everywhere for you."

"You didn't know where I was? I didn't leave that upstairs apartment at all. He came home every night and . . . It was awful. It smelled bad, I missed Papa, and I missed you all so much," I said, my voice shaking.

"Why didn't you come to me?" he asked.

"I couldn't. I didn't want to bring trouble for you or the boys if the police were looking for me," I said. "I was doing what you told me to do-hiding out. He told me you kept wanting me to stay a bit longer. He told me it wasn't safe to leave the apartment."

"What made you leave?" he asked, his voice strained.

"I didn't like it. I was scared all the time, and I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know how much longer I had to hide out, but I couldn't do it anymore, so I left. I couldn't stay in Brooklyn. But I couldn't tell you. I didn't want you to be mad at me for leaving," I added, staring at the carpet. I had defied him, and he was sure to be angry.

"Don't do that," Spot said very softly.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't look down. You didn't do anything wrong. Don't hide from me. Tell me what happened," he said. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up at him.

"What did he do to you that made you prefer the streets?" Spot asked in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

"He just wanted sex," I responded, blushing. Why was I blushing? Wasn't it Spot who had said it was no big deal? "I know you said it wasn't a big deal, but I didn't like it. I tried to do as I was told, but I just couldn't do it. I'm sorry," I added, and now my eyes were filling with tears. I had let him down. I had let Papa down.

"God, Cat, you didn't do anything wrong. That bastard took advantage of you. He hurt you. You were right to leave."

"But I thought—I mean-what?" I asked. Really? I was so confused and had so many questions, and all I could do was babble?

"Cat, sex is no big deal between two people who both choose to have sex. But you have to choose it. You didn't have a choice. That's a big deal," he said, screwing up his face. "Can I touch your hand?" he asked, reaching his arm out with his palm up in a non-threatening gesture. I placed my hand in his and found it oddly comforting.

"But I wanted to do as I was told, like Papa taught me. And I owed him; we owed him money, and he kept me hidden from the police," I said, trying and failing to keep my gaze up.

"Cat, he tricked you. He took advantage of you and lied to you. There were no more raids on the lodging house or the factory after those first ones. I'd bet you could walk into any station in Brooklyn and state your name, and nobody would take note of it. In fact, I'm surprised they came to the lodging house in the first place. I've felt for awhile someone must have tipped the bulls off that you were there. He made up the danger to keep you at home with him," Spot explained softly. "And even if you owed him the moon, he did not have the right to collect in the way he did. Never, you hear?" He squeezed my hand.

"But—" My mind was racing. All of that time he'd been lying? And I -? I was so confused. Something was wrong with what he was saying . . . .

"No," Spot said gently, giving my hand a light tug to snap me out of my thoughts. "You did nothing wrong. You remember that. Nothing. None of this is your fault. Do you understand?" He had that earnest voice—the one with no trace of a smirk, the one that meant he expected me to look at him.

It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but I did it for him. I looked up.

His eyes were the most intense blue I have ever seen, and they were so sad. His jaw, on the other hand, was set like it is when he's angry. I felt like he was looking through me, and suddenly I felt so ashamed; I had let him down, and I had let Papa down. All this time I had been trying to make them proud, and I had accepted Antonio's advances for their sakes—and instead I had let them down. All the emotions I had so carefully bottled up suddenly burst forth.

The awful realization made me feel like my chest was being crushed and I couldn't breathe. There was a block in my throat. I stared ahead, trying to breathe, trying not to think, only aware of this crushing shame. All the emotions I had barely felt since Papa had died—grief, fear, confusion, worry, shame, guilt, panic—they were suddenly all there as well, wrapping bands around my chest and throat, and my mind could not process which one to feel first. I was spinning out of control, aching with feeling and yet so overwhelmed with the array of emotions that I couldn't feel any one of them.

"No, no. Sweetheart, breathe," a voice in the distance said. There was air out there in the distance. I tried to zero in on that voice and the air I knew would come with it. "It's okay. You're okay. Just relax. Everything is fine. You're fine. Just breathe."

I dropped my chin and found the carpet with my eyes. Okay. I took a breath, and I suddenly became aware that I had physically stopped breathing. Spot had moved. He was kneeling in front of where I sat on the bed, and his hands had clasped both of mine.

"We don't have to talk about it, okay? Just relax. It's okay," he was saying.

We didn't have to talk about it. Good, because I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't think about it. I just wanted things to go back to normal. I took all the emotions and shoved them down. I sealed them in a cellar and closed heavy doors over them. And then I looked at Spot, crouched on the floor in front of me, clasping my hands, and I felt just one thing—relief.

"Spot," I cried, dropping off the bed and kneeling on the floor with him. I leaned into him, and he cautiously put his arm around my shoulders. We sat there for a long time, on the floor of that room, with my face buried in his shoulder, until the world righted itself.


	47. Spot21--Fault

AN: Back to some repetition, but this scene in particular was important to write from both characters' POV. I tried to keep it to a minimum.

Now, I am in great shape, but I was running so hard that even I was out of breath. I reached Ms. Mina's by late morning. I was drenched in spite of my coat, and I went straight over to the fire when the girls let me in. Pearl was asleep, but Emma went to get her as soon as I arrived. She came out and I was just asking her about the new girl when I heard someone coming down the stairs. I looked over Pearl's shoulder and saw the person I'd been desperate to see for the last two months alive and walking towards me.

"Katja!" I said, moving past Pearl quickly and pulling Katja into a hug. Only something was wrong. She shrieked and began flailing at me. I stepped back in surprise. I had never seen this from her, and my relief at seeing her switched instantly to concern as she backed into the wall and sank down to sit.

"What the hell? Cat, it's me," I said, reaching out to touch her arm. She swung away, batting my arm before clamping her own arms back over her head. I moved toward her again.

"Spot, STOP!" a voice yelled in a way that nobody had ever spoken my name. I stopped and looked up to see Emma walking forward. She stepped between Katja and me, kneeling with her back to me. She murmured something to Katja, who nodded, and after a few more words, she helped Katja to her feet and led her out of the room. I moved to follow, but she turned and gestured for me to stay where I was. "Wait," she mouthed.

I paced the floor as I processed the last few minutes. Katja was alive, but something had obviously happened for her to react so violently to me. It took every ounce of self control I possessed-and that's a fair bit!-for me not to run upstairs and back to Katja's side. I wanted to see her, to touch her, to reassure myself that she was really there. I wanted to talk to her, to find out what was going on. The thought of her alone and frightened as she had been made me so angry that I was shaking by the time Emma came back down.

She gestured for me to follow her into the kitchen. "I've seen people snap after a trauma before," she said as she began making tea. "I'll see if I can figure out what happened to her, but it's obvious that when you hugged her, something went wrong. Let me look after her, okay? I promise we'll figure this out." She pulled out two saucers and cups, poured the tea, and put her hand on my arm. "I know you've been looking for her, but I will be right there with her. I just need you to trust me." My throat clenched, but I nodded. She smiled, grabbed the tea, and headed back upstairs.

I began to pace again, but it wasn't long before Emma came down.

"What the hell happened to her? Who hurt her?" I said sharply as she entered the room.

"You need to sit," she said, and I did-on the edge of my seat. Somehow I knew something bad was coming.

"So she says she's been with some Italian guy this whole time," she said.

"That makes no sense," I said, puzzled. "We checked that apartment-"

"There's more," Emma interrupted. I realized I should have known that and snapped my mouth shut. "He forced her to have sex with him," she added, and even though a small part of me had known this was coming, I felt an anger and a pain I had never felt before.

"I'm going to kill him!" I yelled, and I jumped to my feet and moved toward the door.

"Spot, you need to calm down," Emma yelled right back as she barred the door.

"Move out of my way," I snarled at her. My control was slipping, and I needed to get back to Brooklyn to kill Santorelli.

"She needs you here," Emma shouted at me, and her words penetrated the red haze of anger. I stopped.

"I am going back up there, and I am going to do my best to find out what happened. I promise I will let you know. But you need to understand a few things," she said more calmly, and I forced my body to stop shaking as I gave another terse nod.

"Katja's had a trauma, and we don't know what that will do to her. I've seen it before-it happens in a place like this. She can heal, but she will need time, patience, and understanding. She has to heal on her own terms and in her own timeline."

"What does she need from me?" I asked, and I know my voice sounded strained as I fought for control.

"I don't know. She probably doesn't, either. She probably has no idea what caused her to react like that to you, and I am willing to bet she scared herself. You need to accept her wherever she is."

"Is she in pain?"

"Physically, she's fine. She is mostly confused right now. Can you tell me a bit about the circumstances? We got the message she was missing, but there are holes in my understanding of what's been going on. I don't even know who this guy is."

I realized that Emma and the rest of the girls didn't even know Mr. Fischer had died. I went back and covered the events of the last two months as best I could. Emma nodded as I finished.

"She is so naive that she doesn't understand that what that bastard did was wrong. We need to help her understand what happened to her wasn't her fault."

I am pretty sure I just grunted at that. I knew whose fault it was and how he would suffer at my hands.

"I'm going back up there. I've already left her alone too long," she said and headed up the stairs.

I paced back and forth a few times, wanting to give Emma and Katja time to talk. But the months of fear for her and the knowledge that she had been hurt culminated in an overwhelming need to see her. I quickly got a room number from Pearl, then bounded up the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Cat, please let me come in," I begged, trying not to sound desperate.

After another moment of murmured voices, the door opened slightly. Emma was at the door, but my eyes moved past her to Katja sittting on the bed. She looked so small and vulnerable, and I wanted to go to her, somehow turn back time and make the last few months disappear. Before I could move through the door, though, Emma stopped me. I didn't take my eyes off Katja-I didn't want her to disappear on me-but I did listen to what Emma was whispering.

"She says no hugs. Probably best to be careful about touching her at all. If she panics, back away and call me. My room is number four," she said.

I nodded, glancing briefly at her in gratitude as she moved past me and out of the room. I stepped forward toward the frightened girl on the bed, wanting nothing more than to take her into my arms. Instead I sat in the chair opposite her, my elbows on my legs as I leaned forward.

"Cat, thank God you're alirght. We've been worried sick," I said by way of ice breaker.

"Why?" she asked in surprise. Did she not know we would be looking for her?

"You bolted from your job, then quit showing up to work. What happened?"

"I was hiding out like you told me," she said. "Antonio said the police were still looking for me and that they kept searching work and the lodging house, so I had to lay low. He said you wanted me to stay there and hide out. I even gave him letters for you."

I was beginning to understand. The whole thing had been some sort of ruse set up by Santorelli so he could take advantage of Katja. It was obvious she didn't understand that yet, so I forced my anger away as I answered her. "I never got them," I said. "We had no idea where you were. I even went to his apartment, but nobody was there. We followed the man home every day for weeks and had newsies stationed outside the building for the first month. We were looking everywhere for you." How in the world had she been in his apartment without our knowing it?

"You didn't know where I was? I didn't leave that upstairs apartment at all. He came home every night and . . . . It was awful. It smelled bad, I missed Papa, and I missed you all so much," she said. Upstairs apartment? I wanted to smack myself. I had never thought to look elsewhere in the same building! The tremble in her voice kept me grounded in the moment, though.

"Why didn't you come to me?" I asked, trying to keep my tone inquisitive rather than accusatory. This wasn't her fault, and I couldn't let my anger at that beast get in the way of helping Katja.

"I couldn't. I didn't want to bring trouble for you or the boys if the police were looking for me. I was doing what you told me to do-hiding out. He told me you kept wanting me to stay a bit longer. He told me it wasn't safe to leave the apartment," she explained. With every word she spoke, my heart broke just a bit more. In spite of everything she had been going through, she'd been trying to protect us. She had stayed because she thought I wanted it, and she trusted me. The guilt of not finding her intensified as I realized what she had endured because of me, and I barely managed to grind out my next question.

"What made you leave?"

"I didn't like it. I was scared all the time, and I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know how much longer I had to hide out, but I couldn't do it anymore, so I snuck out one night. I couldn't stay in Brooklyn, but I couldn't tell you. I didn't want you to be mad at me for leaving," she said in a tumble of words. Her eyes were cast down, but I suspect they were filled with tears. This was a start, but I knew that she needed to talk this out. I needed her to look at me so I could understand how she was feeling, so I could help her.

"Don't do that," I said.

"Don't do what?" she asked, eyes still down.

"Don't look down. You didn't do anything wrong. Don't hide from me. Tell me what happened," I urged, begging her mentally to look up. She did, and my gut wrenched as I realized how immense her trust in me was and how much I had failed her.

"What did he do to you that made you prefer the streets?" I prompted softly, hoping I could get her to tell me what had happened.

"He just wanted sex," she said, blushing. "I know you said it wasn't a big deal, but I didn't like it. I tried to do as I was told, but I just couldn't do it. I'm sorry," she said.

God. This really was my fault. I thought back to what I had said on New Years. Was it really only a few months ago? It seemed like a lifetime had passed. Katja, my beautiful, kind, selfless Katja, had put up with that bastard because she was trying to please everyone, including me. The wretched irony was killing me, but this wasn't about me. I could see that her tears were for her perceived failure. She was blaming herself, and I couldn't let that happen.

"God, Cat, you didn't do anything wrong. That bastard took advantage of you. He hurt you. You were right to leave."

Her head, which had begun to fall again, snapped up in obvious confusion.

"But I thought-I mean-what?" she babbled. I needed to make sure she understood.

"Cat, sex is no big deal between two people who both choose to have sex. But you have to choose it. You didn't have a choice. That's a big deal." My need to touch her, to connect with her, got the better of me, and I found myself asking, "Can I touch your hand?" I reached my hand out to her, and when she put her hand in mine, that part of me that had died during her absence came back to life. She was here, and I was never letting her out of my sight again. I would make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again, and I would spend my life making sure she understood so she could heal-even if she blamed me and hated me forever afterwards.

"But I wanted to do as I was told, like Papa taught me. And I owed him; we owed him money, and he kept me hidden from the police." Her gaze dropped again as she said it. I was beginning to understand the depth of this man's deception and how he had used her innocence and kind heart against her. It made me even angrier to understand that the very qualities that made Katja so special were the ones that bastard had used to take advantage of her. But she needed to fully understand if she wanted to move on, so I pressed on.

"Cat, he tricked you. He took advantage of you and lied to you. There were no more raids on the lodging house or the factory after those first ones. I'd bet you could walk into any station in Brooklyn and state your name, and nobody would take note of it. In fact, I'm surprised they came to the lodging house in the first place. I've felt for awhile someone must have tipped the bulls off that you were there. He made up the danger to keep you at home with him. And even if you owed him the moon, he did not have the right to collect in the way he did. Never, you hear?"

"But-" she began to protest, her face still clouded in confusion.

"No," I interrupted her. "You did nothing wrong. You remember that. Nothing. None of this is your fault. Do you understand?" I was going to say it until she understood it, and I said it with every bit of urgency and authority I could muster. My mind begged her to look at me so I could see if I was getting through to her. Miraculously, she looked up at me.

I watched her green eyes search my face for a moment. Then something happened and her face froze, then paled. It took me a moment to register that she had quit breathing. This was not good. Unconsciously, I knelt in front of her and clasped both of her hands in mine, giving them a small shake.

"Katja! No, no. Sweetheart, breathe. It's okay. You're okay. Just relax. Everything is fine. You're fine. Just breathe," I commanded as calmly as I could even though I was panicking inside. I was on the verge of getting up to call Emma when Katja looked down and took a deep, shuddering breath. Her face cleared slightly, and I felt my own panic subside a bit. This was too much, too soon. I had pushed too hard.

"We don't have to talk about it, okay? Just relax. It's okay," I said in the most calming tone I could muster.

Her eyes cleared and comprehension dawned. Something had changed, and even as I registered it, her face crumpled.

"Spot!" she cried out, falling to the floor and into my shoulder. Her sobs were muffled by my shirt, and I gingerly put an arm around her shoulders, taking great care not to frighten her, and held her as she cried.


	48. Katja22--Now What?

AN: I am trying to keep the repetition to a minimum and make each scene a bit different and about what is important to the different characters. I haven't quite nailed it yet, but I am going to stick with the back and forth because it helps me as a writer to see how each character heals. Hopefully you, dear readers, don't get too bored. Maybe some day I will clean it up a bit more and republish, but for now, you get what you get. Also, please know that I have an incredibly busy week ahead and that I really shouldn't be writing now. Given the polish the next bit needs, I probably won't update for at least a week after this bit. Sorry!

It must have been an hour later when we found ourselves sitting against the wall, with me curled beside Spot and with my head in the crook of his shoulder and his arm draped casually across my back and to my waist. I had started shivering, and Spot had pulled the blanket from the bed and tucked it around us. We sat in companionable silence for awhile. I don't know what he was thinking, but I know that I was doing my best not to think. There was just too much to process right now. Finally, unable to stop my mind from doing something, I started thinking about logistics. We couldn't stay sitting here forever, after all, and the future was a safer topic for my brain to explore than the recent past. Though not by much.

"So now what?" I asked, trying not to feel fear at the prospect of being unemployed and homeless. Maybe I would end up working here after all? Now that the dam had broken, the idea made me nervous, but I didn't really see many options. I'm pretty sure my voice betrayed me, though.

"We should probably stay in Manhattan for the night; it's getting late, and it's still pretty rainy out there. You don't seem like you're up to a long walk in the rain. We can head to Brooklyn in the morning. I know the boys will be glad to see you," he said.

"Oh," I managed, wondering if he meant I would find a room in Brooklyn. Santorelli was in Brooklyn. That thought alone made me nervous. And the guys-what would they think? Did they think I was stupid for hiding when I didn't need to? Would they be mad at me for wasting their time? Did they know about what happened at Santorelli's? I felt so cheap somehow, and the thought of them knowing terrified me. What would they expect from me?

I didn't have any money. What would I do about that? I wondered if I still had a job or if I shouldn't just stay here. After all, I was broke . . . . I should probably tell Spot that, I mused.

"I don't have any money," I said, and Spot chuckled.

"Well, actually you do have some money at the lodging house, but that's hardly important. What's important is that you stay where we can look after you," he answered. "You aren't leaving my sight any time soon. Actually, I was thinking maybe we should think about getting some food and arranging lodging for the night. I'll pay for the room here for you, and then I can head over to the Manhattan newsboys' lodging house for the night myself. But dinner first." Spot pulled himself up to his feet, and then he helped me rise. "Shall we?" he asked, offering me his elbow.

Shrugging the blanket off and placing it on the bed, I smiled slightly as I took his arm. It felt normal to be heading to a meal with Spot. I needed that. Besides, the thought of food was pretty exciting after the last few weeks; the single meal this morning was not enough to undo the effects of weeks of hunger.

We headed down the stairs. In the lobby he peeled off and exchanged a few words with Emma. She nodded, and he handed her some money. Then he pulled on his coat, which had been hanging by the door, and a borrowed cloak for me. We headed out the door and onto the rain-drenched street. It was drizzling lightly, but there were still plenty of people around, and though the lights were on, it wasn't actually dark yet.

We found a small restaurant and enjoyed some stew—warm, filling, savory, and exactly what I needed. I wasn't up to talking much, though; mostly I just ate and worried.

"Spot?" I finally ventured, and he looked at me inquisitively. "Do the boys know? About everything?"

"No. They don't even know where I am right now," he said. After a pause, he added, "they don't need to know anything you don't want them to. It's enough that you are back. And if they did know, they wouldn't think any less of you."

"How can you be sure?" I asked, surprised at how perceptive he was about what I needed to hear.

"Because I don't," he said simply. I chewed my lip as I thought about that. I thought about all that we had been through together-the way he had been there for me at Mama's funeral, taking care of Jimmy, saving me from those thugs last year, taking care of me when Papa died-and then I thought of last Christmas and when he kissed me. Would he ever want to kiss me again? Now that it seemed so unlikely, I realized just how much I wanted him to. I also realized how much he offered me and how little I provided him in return. How helpless I was. How could he not think less of me right now? I must have been quiet for some time, because he interrupted my thoughts again.

"Cat, the boys don't judge. You should know that by now. There is nothing that could happen to you that would make them judge you. They love you, and they really missed you. Even if they knew what happened to you, they would understand that it isn't your fault, and they would still love you-just like you would still love them if the roles were reversed. But if you don't want them to know, we won't tell them," he said. I realized he was right-Roller and Red and Ace and Legs-those guys were my friends, and I loved them. I had missed them. And Spot was right about the fact that they were unlikely to judge me. I gave him a small smile, and we headed back to the working girls' house. After walking me upstairs, Spot turned to go. Suddenly the thought of him leaving frightened me.

"Please stay," I said, surprising myself as much as him. He didn't say anything; he just paused for a moment, then nodded.

"Go ahead and get settled. I'll join you in a few minutes," he said, stepping out of the room. I completed my wash up and changed into the nightgown in the adjacent washroom before curling deeply under the covers and waiting nervously for him. I was surprised at how frightened I was at the thought that he was not here, especially when I thought of the men downstairs. How could I ever have thought I could work here? He came in a good ten minutes later and went into the washroom. When he stepped back into the bedroom he glanced around the room and moved toward the armchair.

"Please stay with me," I said again, and he looked at me curiously.

"Are you sure? I don't want to scare you," he said, and I smiled nervously at him.

"I'll be okay," I said, scooting over in the large bed to make space for him. He settled in, and I instinctively cuddled up against him. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt completely calm and safe, and I slept.


	49. Spot22--The Cloak

We sat against that wall for awhile. At some point my mind kicked back into gear. My clothes were still damp from my run across Brooklyn. She was obviously tired and frail, and the emotions of the day had drained her. She was shivering. I pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around us as she continued to cry into my shoulder. My arm around her registered that she was thin-not somewhat slender as before, but desperately thin. I wondered how much she had been eating and it occurred to me that I had no idea what she had been doing since leaving that sicko's apartment. How had she ended up here?

It was becoming obvious that it would take time to fill in the gaps-the details of what had happened in the months since I had last seen her. It was also obvious that her emotional healing-and mine-would take time. I would need to get her settled back in over in Brooklyn, and I doubted she had ever had time to process and properly mourn her father. Then the thought occurred to me that we would need to go after the bastard, and I began considering my options. I could go after him directly, but somehow Mr. Donovan's face came to mind. It would be slow, difficult, and not painful enough, but if I was going to work for the system, I would have to believe in it. Revenge could come later. My mind moved toward more practical details as Katja, not asleep but vacantly cuddled into my shoulder, stared into space. That had me worried, too. In the years I had known her, she had never been vacant. But I had pushed enough today, and I knew she was physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted. I settled in to wait, contenting myself with the feel of her tucked into my shoulder.

"So now what?" she eventually asked, sounding a bit tentative. I voiced my thoughts about heading home. "Oh," was all she said, and I could hear the wheels turning. That was a good sign. "I don't have any money," she said, and again her voice was tinged with nervousness and a bit of confusion.

"Well, actually you do have some money at the lodging house, but that's hardly important," I said, dismissing the matter. "What's important is that you stay where we can look after you. You aren't leaving my sight any time soon." I meant forever, but that sounded like a bit much at that moment. My stomach growled, reminding me that I had eaten practically nothing that day and that she was likely even hungrier.

"Actually, I was thinking maybe we should get some food and arrange lodging for the night. I'll pay for the room here for you, and then I can head over to the Manhattan newsboys' lodging house for the night myself. But dinner first." I had no intention of spending the night anywhere but right outside her room. I meant it about not leaving my sight. No way I was leaving her in here. Ms. Mina's may attract a classier clientele than the rough and ready dock workers at Ms. Cara's, but these were still johns, and I didn't trust them. But I didn't tell her that.

As we headed out, I spotted Emma not yet with a customer for the evening. I went over to her.

"Thanks for everything. She'll be staying the night here and going home with me tomorrow. I'll pay for the room," I added. "Oh, and we'll be borrowing a cloak. I am assuming you ladies are in for the night now that business is picking up?" Emma grinned and nodded.

"Sure, doll. Do what you gotta do. I'll tell Mina," she grinned at me, and I nodded my thanks before heading back to Cat.

It was still gloomy and rainy outside, but it felt like the most beautiful day to me. I had Katja at my side, and I could make things right. She was obviously exhausted, though, and I concentrated on finding an appropriate place to eat. If, in fact, she had been starving lately, the wrong foods might make her sick. I've seen it often enough. I had to be careful and selected a small restaurant with vegetable stew. I was able to gather, from what limited conversation we had, that she had wandered around Manhattan with virtually no food for almost the last two weeks. Well, that explained a lot. It was obvious her health had suffered, and I determined that she would never go hungry again as long as I lived.

When we returned to Ms. Mina's, some of the girls were downstairs with customers. I hung up her cloak and my jacket and returned with her to her room before turning to go-I didn't need one of the men in the lobby thinking she was available and following her to her room. I would sneak out the side, run a quick errand on Duane Street, and return to sleep outside her door.

"Goodnight, Darlin," I said, reluctantly releasing the hand I had been holding and turning to leave.

"Please stay," she said. She looked so small and frightened in the middle of that room that I would have done anything she asked-and sleeping in that armchair wasn't too difficult a request to grant given my plans. I nodded.

"Go ahead and get settled. I'll join you in a few minutes," I said, leaving her to wash up. I sprinted out the side and over to the Manhattan lodging house. I needed to run my errand. I ran into Blink almost immediately. Good.

"Blink," I said, and he looked up in surprise. I can understand that; I don't usually come all the way over here unannounced.

"Spot!" he said in surprise, and I gestured for him to be quiet. One of the advantages of my reputation is my ability to command silence and get what I want.

"I need someone to go over to Poplar and pick up Cat's cloak from my room," I said. "Tell my boys I've found Katja and that we'll be back in Brooklyn tomorrow. There's a dime in it for the person who delivers the cloak to Ms. Mina's by 11. I'll leave the dime with the bartender. Got it?" I asked. A dime is a big payment for the task, but I wanted it done quickly.

"I'm on it, Spot," Blink said, rising. I nodded my thanks, and I turned to hightail it back to Ms. Mina's. "Spot," Blink called before I left, and I looked back at him. "Thank God you found her," he said simply. I nodded again, then bolted back to Ms. Mina's, giving the bartender a dime and a quick explanation before heading up to Katja. She was just nestled into the bed when I arrived. I headed into the washroom to clean up, then moved toward the armchair.

"Please stay with me," she said softly, and I glanced at her. Did she mean in the bed?

"Are you sure? I don't want to scare you," I said, and I meant it. I didn't need her panicking in the middle of the night and disturbing the clients and girls. She smiled nervously at me.

"I'll be okay," she said, moving to give me space in the large bed. I laid down beside her, but I didn't touch her-at least not until she nestled into the crook of my shoulder again. It felt so right to have her with me, and for the first time in months, I slept soundly.


	50. Katja23--Return

I awoke in the big bed alone. The room and the washroom were empty, and I took the opportunity to clean up. I knew we were facing a long walk back to Brooklyn. I looked around and spotted my pillowcase with the Twain novel. Somehow I had held onto it. I carried it downstairs and into the lounge. There was Spot, reading the morning newspaper, and I suddenly realized he hadn't sold in several days on my account. I looked down, guilt once again rushing over me. I tried to think of something to say, glad he hadn't seen me yet.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop," his voice carried across the room. He hadn't actually moved, and I couldn't see him. I have no idea how he knew I was even there; his face had not appeared from behind the paper yet. However, it was his words that actually surprised me. My whirring, questioning brain snapped to attention as Spot finally set down the paper and looked at me intently.

"No thinking. Just good morning," he said, and I looked down.

"Good morning," I mumbled to the plush carpet.

"If I remember correctly, you once apologized to me for mumbling into the ground instead of looking me in the eye. Am I really that hard to look at?" He said it gently, in a light, teasing manner.

"I—" I was a bit at a loss. This conversation seemed so normal—like one of our park bench talks rather than something he was saying to a girl in the lounge of a brothel. My brain wavered for a split second, but then I went with it.

"Good morning," I said more clearly, looking up at him. He smiled, and I decided I could do this—pretend nothing had happened and that things were normal.

"Let's get out of here. We can get some breakfast on the way," he suggested, and I nodded and moved toward the door.

"You forgot your cloak," he smiled, gesturing to a beautiful new one hanging on a peg. I wondered where the garment had come from. I put it on dutifully, slipping the Twain book I still had clutched in my hand into the large pocket.

"Whose is it? Where did you get it?" I asked, fingering the fabric reverently. It really was beautiful.

"It suits you," he said, avoiding the question as we set off.

A few good meals, a bath, and a lot of sleep can do a fair bit to ease the effects of weeks on the streets, but they can't erase it entirely. I confess—it was slow going, and I was exhausted. Spot was kind, though, and didn't push me. He did, however, insist on sticking close enough to touch me—a trailing finger on my cloak, his shoulder against mine, a brush of his arm on me—pretty frequently. It was comforting, as if I could somehow draw on his strength and pull it into my body through the physical contact. We stopped numerous times to rest, and for the first time in my life, we stopped in the middle of the bridge just to yell over the side—something I had never tried before.

As we neared the end of the bridge and Brooklyn, I felt an incredible sense of relief and homecoming, and I said as much to Spot. He grinned, then gestured over to Red, who was running towards us. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him.

"Cat!" he cried, running up and grabbing me in a big hug.

It happened again. That panicky feeling of needing to get away, this time accompanied by that inability to breathe. I think I may have shrieked into Red's chest, and I flailed helplessly against him. He let me go, and I rushed backwards, away from the crushing feeling, away from the bands around my chest, away from the male presence, away from the feel of arms, away . . . .

" . . . alright, it's okay, Cat. You're okay. Breathe, Katja. Easy. It's okay." Spot's voice cut into my panic, and I realized that my hands were clasped in his. I was crouched against the railing of the bridge, and Spot was squatting in front of me. He pulled me to my feet. I took a deep, shuddering breath, but I couldn't control the shaking as I stood there looking at the wood of the bridge.

"Look at me, Katja," Spot said after a few moments, his voice soft but the command present.

I looked up and once again found myself at the end of that firm blue gaze. This time, however, it was comforting, and I kept my eyes locked to his. It was safe that way. Gradually the dizziness subsided and my full range of vision returned. My heart was still pounding, but at least I was somewhat functional.

"Spot, I—" I heard Red start to say, his tone apologetic and concerned.

"Not your fault," Spot answered him crisply, but his eyes stayed locked to mine. "Go tell everyone that Cat's back, but tell them no hugs." I heard Red move off and dropped my gaze back to the street.

"Look at me, Katja," Spot said again, and I forced my gaze back to his earnest one. "This wasn't your fault, either." I nodded, but I wasn't sure I believed him. "The boys will be coming soon. They've been worried sick about you for weeks. They're going to have questions. It's okay to blow them off. It's okay to say you don't want to talk about it or that you'll talk about it some other time. It's okay to ask them not to ask you. And it's okay to be upset or to be afraid. Most of these guys have a past, and they'll all understand it. We've all been afraid at some point. We all have things that upset us. It's not your fault, and it's okay." His eyes seemed to dig into me, demanding that I accept what he said. I took another deep breath and realized I still hadn't spoken.

"Red," was all I managed, and Spot nodded.

"He didn't know. Hell, you didn't know. I should have suspected. He'll understand, Cat."

I nodded, then looked around, drawing strength from the familiarity of my surroundings. Brooklyn felt like home. Spot must have seen me straighten because he moved away again. The loss of contact between our hands made me feel bereft somehow; I realized how much I relied on his strength and its transmission through contact. I reached my left hand out and grabbed his right hand, and once again that strength surged through me. He looked sideways at me, but he didn't say anything; he just gave my hand a small squeeze.

I heard a bark and turned ahead again. Jimmy was bolting towards me. I had never seen him run so fast. Roller, who was sprinting behind him, just couldn't keep up. The whilring, whining, spinning mass of fur plowed into my legs, and I nearly toppled over, using my left hand in Spot's for balance. I knelt down and threw my right arm around Jimmy, who was unable to stay still and just spun into me, knocking me to my bottom right there in the street. I laughed as Spot hauled me to my feet, still not letting go of my hand, and Jimmy tried to wrap his body around my legs. He was shoved aside by Roller, who threw his little arms around me and hugged his face to my stomach.

"Cat! You're back!" he shouted, and I smiled. Spot's eyes widened and he moved to haul the boy away, but he stopped when he saw my face. Apparently little boy hugs were okay. He looked at me, then shrugged.

"Where were you? Are you staying now? We missed you. Everyone was lookin' for you. Spot was so mad! And Red and Silver and some of the other big kids even went out at night and looked for you. Spot wouldn't let me out. But he told me you wanted me to take care of your dog, so I did. Did I do a good job? He missed you. So did I. But I taught him a trick. It made him feel better to play with me, but me and Spot and Red were the only ones who could touch him. He slept in your room every night. Are you coming back to the lodging house to stay now? Spot said that when you came back you could stay with us even though girls aren't really supposed to stay there. I'd like that. I can't wait to show you . . . "

I think Roller would have gone on for some time if it hadn't been for the fact that Spot interrupted him.

"Whoa, kid, slow down!"

Roller looked up at his hero, a bit crestfallen, but instantly silent.

"I missed you, too, Roller," I said, and that's when I started to cry. Only this time they were tears of relief. Roller was still clutched to my waist, and I put my right arm around him while my left hand felt another reassuring squeeze. Ace and Greasefoot jogged up just then, and I greeted them with a teary smile, still hugging Roller. The boys both wore huge grins, and I knew by the easy way they greeted me that things would be okay. I was home.

The first day back was full of awkward greetings, some teasing, and, thankfully, sitting. I was in a chair in the lounge, and even though it was May, the rain from the previous day and the fact that I was still recovering from my two weeks on the streets meant that I was chilly. Silver had bundled me in a heavy blanket, and Sam and Legs brought me food almost continuously, though I certainly couldn't eat all of it. Jimmy refused to leave my side, as did Roller. Spot was never far away, and he kept a keen eye on me and on my posse, even from across the room. He need not have worried though. Apart from Roller the boys all seemed to have gotten the message, and nobody tried to hug me. I was grateful, but I still felt guilty when it came to Red. He didn't seem to mind, though, and treated me normally, even teasing me about my appetite, which was nonexistent.

As the noise in the lounge grew, my exhaustion suddenly crept up on me. I felt a hand on my shoulder. "You look tired. You should go to bed," Ace said. I nodded and stood, yawning. Suddenly I felt nervous. My bed—the mattress I had missed, with its familiar lumps. My room, which had never really been mine but which had a window. I shook myself to clear my head, patted Jimmy's head as he stood beside me, and turned to hand Silver his blanket before calling out a goodnight and heading upstairs.

I entered the room and looked around. It was so familiar yet so strange; I knew every knick in each piece of furniture, yet I had only spent one stressful and interrupted night in this room. I heard movement and saw that the adjoining door to Spot's room was open. "Spot?" I called out, and my voice trembled.

"Yeah, Cat, I'm here," he said, emerging into my room. "I was just getting set for tomorrow. You turning in?" I nodded. "You gonna be okay?" he asked, and I shrugged.

"I don't know," I said honestly, and he nodded.

"I'll be next door reading," he said. "Call if you want some company or if you need anything." I nodded again.

In the end it was the window that comforted me. I cracked it, and the fresh air was soothing. I had missed that cooped up at Antonio's, and it had been the one good thing about the weeks I had spent on the streets. The presence of two doors, giving me three exits, put me at ease, and I fell asleep.

My dreams were a bit unsettled. I was trying to find a place to stay, but the boys kept coming by saying, "no whores here." I was running back home, but Papa and Mama simply turned and walked away from me. "You cannot stay with us, Katja," Mama said, and they turned away. Antonio appeared in front of me. "Come with me, Katie," he wheedled, and I shrank back. He grabbed me in a crushing hug, and I tried to push him away frantically. I sat up, panting a bit. I was in my bed in the lodging house and Antonio had only been a dream. Jimmy sat up when I did, but when I didn't move he just put his head back down on his paws and sighed, looking up at me. I envied him.

My mind was racing. It would be morning soon. I had no idea what to do that day. I had no job; at least, I assumed I didn't, and I confess that I was scared to go back to work for Antonio. The thought caused me to flinch. What if I did have to go back there? Spot said what happened wasn't my fault and that I shouldn't have sex with him anymore, but would Antonio be mad at me for it? Would he try to take me back to that apartment? The thoughts terrified me.

"Cat?" I heard Spot's soft voice from the doorway. Jimmy looked up at him, then back at me. I glanced over at Spot, who had thrown on trousers and a shirt before padding barefoot into the doorway. "You okay?" he asked gently, coming over to my bed. I nodded, but I didn't meet his gaze.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked, sitting down beside me.

"I was just worrying about today," I confessed, drawing my knees up and chewing on my bottom lip. "I am guessing I don't have my job anymore; even if I do, I don't know if I can work for Antonio again. What if he—" I couldn't voice my fears without my voice catching.

"You are never going back there," Spot said firmly, putting a hand on my shoulder. "I won't let him near you." I didn't look at his face, but I saw the set of his jaw out of the corner of my eye, and I recognized that determined stance and the icy tone.

"I just thought he might try to take me back there," I said quietly, and at this Spot's hand tightened on my shoulder.

"Where? Can you tell me about any of it?" he asked, but there was no demand to his voice.

"It was a small, dark apartment on the top floor. It smelled funny, and it was dirty. There was only one window, and he never let me near it. He would go to work, and I would do the cleaning and washing. Then I would make dinner for us. The second night he brought home wine for our dinner. That was the first night he . . . came over to my bed. Most nights he would . . . " I trailed off. "He said it was okay and that it was only fair to pay off my debts for hiding and feeding me. He said that since we still owed him money, the least I could do was to be a good girl for him." I wiped the tears from my face. When had those started? But the flood of words had started first, and it couldn't be stopped now.

"Afterwards he would go back to his own bed, but sometimes in the mornings he would come back to me. He liked to crush me to him when he . . . " I couldn't finish that sentence, so I moved on. "I hated that. He was always so sweaty and it just felt so sticky and dirty. I kept asking him how much longer before I could go to work. I kept waiting for word from you. Antonio said that you would answer my letter when it was safe. I just kept waiting. I even worked up the nerve to look out the window once. He was so angry. I told him I wouldn't do it again. There was a police officer outside, and I was so scared he would see me. It took me two more weeks before I worked up the nerve to leave. I snuck out in the middle of the night, and I ran. I ran all the way to Manhattan. But I didn't have any money or anything, so I just hid. I kept thinking I was supposed to go back to Antonio, but I just couldn't do it. I tried to tell myself that I was having an adventure like Tom Sawyer. I thought if I just kept looking around I would figure something out, just like Tom and Huck. Only nothing happened. I couldn't think of anything until I heard Minnie and thought that I could get a job there. I thought maybe that way I could see you again someday without getting you in trouble. I though maybe someday . . . " I trailed off. I didn't actually know what I had thought. The silence seemed to last forever. "I guess I just thought that maybe if I tried hard enough, I could make everything okay and that somehow you would show up and make everything okay," I added lamely. I finally chanced a look at his face.

His jaw was flexing, and he sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "God, Cat," he choked out, and his voice sounded so heavy. "I just—" he sighed again. For the first time since I had known him, Spot Conlon was at a loss for words. I don't know why, but it frightened me, and I reached out for him. My arms came around his waist, and I pulled myself to him, leaning into his chest. He seemed startled, then put one arm gingerly around me. We laid down that way, all curled up together. He stared up at the ceiling, and I closed my eyes and rested my head on his chest. His free arm came up to hold my hand that had drifted up to his chest.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though I don't think I really understood what exactly he needed to hear from me in that moment. I just felt like I needed to make it better—like whatever I had done to upset him needed to be fixed. His arms tightened briefly around me.

"No, Katja. Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. None of that was your fault. Nothing. It was mine. I should never have let you out of my sight. I should have found you. I should have . . . " and here he choked off, and it suddenly dawned on me that he felt responsible for me. That he felt he had let me down. He, who had always been my rock. Who had always taken care of me. I chanced a glance at his face, and his eyes were full of tears. I wanted desperately to make them disappear.

"Spot?" I asked, and he tightened his arms around me briefly. "Can we just forget about all of it? Can we just pretend that it never happened?"

"We can try," he answered, and I think there was that hint of a smile on his face when he said it.


	51. Spot23--Bringing Her Home

I seldom sleep late, especially when I am not in Brooklyn, so it was no surprise that I awoke before Katja. As I sat up I took the opportunity to study Katja as she slept. I have been around long enough to recognize the signs of living on the streets-the face pale with hunger and the lean frame, circles under the eyes from lack of sleep, a layer of dirt on the hands that takes more than a bath to remove. My poor Katja had obviously had a rough go of it, and it broke my heart and strengthened my resolve to get that guy. Deciding to let her rest, I arose and washed up before heading downstairs. Most of the girls were still with customers or already asleep-only Emma and a girl I didn't know were in the lobby. I stepped outside, picked up a paper from Specs just outside, noted the cloak by the door, and smiled before settling in to read the paper and wait for her to come down.

I had expected Katja to sleep longer, but she came down not much later. She was thinking too much, but I snapped her out of it, ready to get back to Brooklyn and establish some normalcy that a whorehouse could not provide.

"Let's get out of here," I said. "We can get some breakfast on the way." As she moved to open the door I gestured to the pegs. "You forgot your cloak."

"Whose is it? Where did you get it?" she asked as she slipped it on. It looked lovely on her, and I could tell she liked it as she touched the trim cautiously.

"It suits you," I dodged. I grabbed her pillowcase with a few items in it, and we headed out. The pace was slow; Katja was weaker than I remembered. She was paler, too, now that I was looking at her in proper daylight. It brought out all of the protective instincts in me, and that coupled with the lingering disbelief that she was back with me made me stick close to her side. As we crossed the bridge, we stopped again.

"You ever yelled over the side?" I asked, and she shook her head, giving me a dumbfounded look.

"Every kid's gotta do it once," I said.

"Are we still kids?" she asked, sounding both very small and somehow so old as she said it. It made me sad to think how much her childhood innocence had been torn violently from her.

"Today we are," I answered, grabbing her hand. "C'mon, it's fun." We leaned over the side and yelled. It felt good to let out some of that pent up stress, and I could tell she felt the same way. After getting a few dirty looks from a few pedestrians, we continued on. Just as we neared the Brooklyn side of the bridge, I spotted Red coming towards us, and Katja smiled as she saw him.

"Cat!" he yelled, and before I could stop him, he had grabbed her in a big hug. Her reaction was instantaneous. She began trashing and shrieking in his arms, and he jumped away as if she had burned him. I jumped between them, grabbing Katja's hands and guiding her to sit back against the bridge railing. She had stopped breathing again.

I held her hands and murmured reassurances as I knelt in front of her. I was grateful to see she had started breathing. It took a minute or two for her face to clear, and once she was aware of where she was I pulled her to her feet. I didn't want to give her time to dwell on the episode. She took a breath and stood there shaking.

"Look at me, Katja," I said, hoping she was able to process simple language. She took another shuddering breath, then met my eyes. I looked at her for a few moments, wanting to be sure I saw my Katja behind those fear-filled green eyes. I could see her return to a more normal state, but I didn't break the gaze, even as Red moved in to apologize.

"Not your fault," I interrupted him before he could say anything to upset Katja. It really wasn't his fault-I should have been more prepared for this. "Go tell everyone that Cat's back, but tell them no hugs." I should have sent that message ahead, but I knew Red would make sure it spread quickly, especially after this. At my words, Katja looked back down at the street.

"Look at me, Katja," I commanded again gently, and she complied. "This wasn't your fault, either." I reassured her that this was no big deal, all the while willing her to understand what I was saying.

"Red," she gasped out, and I realized she felt guilty.

"He didn't know. Hell, you didn't know. I should have suspected. He'll understand, Cat."

She nodded and straightened, and I released her to gather herself. She almost instantly reached out and grabbed my hand as if it were a lifeline. Maybe it was-if that's what she needed, that's what she would get. I gave her a small squeeze, and we turned back toward the end of the bridge. We hadn't gone two steps when Jimmy came rushing to meet us, Roller trailing behind. The dog barrelled into her, nearly knocking her down, and she knelt to embrace him. This time he did knock her down, but since she was still glued to my hand I simply hauled her to her feet. She was laughing, and I am pretty sure that dog will forever have a special place in my heart for making her laugh in that moment.

Roller had reached us at that moment, and before I could stop him he had thrown his little arms around Katja. I moved to haul him away, but Katja seemed okay. I met her gaze, saw she was alright, and shrugged. If she was okay, who was I to argue?

The kid was babbling now. I had to intervene.

"Whoa, kid, slow down!"

He did, looking up at me with an apologetic expression.

"I missed you, too, Roller," Katja said, and she began to cry, hugging the boy. Well, even if I couldn't hug her, at least she could take comfort from the kid. I gave her hand another squeeze and looked on helplessly as the tears flowed. I hate when girls cry, even if I could tell that these were happy tears. Ace and Greasefoot jogged up then, and it was their greeting, as natural as if she'd only been gone a day, that helped set us all at ease.

As the afternoon progressed, the boys trickled in-some between editions, some after selling out, and some just calling it a day-and checked in on Katja. She had been bundled in some blankets by Silver and, though she didn't realize it, looked like a queen holding court as the boys all waited for a turn to chat with her. They really loved her. I held back, wanting her to have some normalcy and knowing that the boys were almost as happy as I was to have her back. She was just so loved that everyone wanted a piece of her-she always had been. The boys kept her fed, warm, and entertained, which was probably the best thing that could have happened to her for now. I just stayed nearby.

"So what happened?" Red came up behind me, startling me. I hadn't realized I'd been staring at Katja until his voice snapped me back to reality.

"She's been through a lot," I answered vaguely. "Most of it bad. Something made her react to being hugged tightly. She did the same thing to me. It wasn't your fault." I knew that was what he was asking.

"So other than that . . . " he trailed off, but the question was implicit. Was there anything else that would be problematic?

"Not sure yet," I answered. "I think we should keep an eye on her, but probably best to also give her space, especially physically. The last two months have been so hard on her, and she never really processed her father. I'd imagine she has a tough road ahead, but all we can do is take it one day at a time."

He nodded, following my gaze over to where Katja was talking with Sam. He had brought her a small sandwich, but she was only nibbling at it. That worried me, too. With as little as she had eaten in the previous weeks, she had lost a lot of weight and, to my mind, was dangerously thin. I knew it would take time for her to regain her normal weight and eating habits, but she had hardly eaten anything all day, and with all the walking we had done, I was worried about how little she had eaten.

It was clear Red's mind was similarly occupied when he observed that she wasn't really eating.

"She really needs to eat," he murmured and stood up. "Maybe that's something I can help with." I grinned up at him, then resumed my vigil, though I did remember to send the boys down to lessons. It was one of those rowdy nights, and things were getting louder. I was just thinking that Katja looked tired when Ace beat me to the punch. Katja stood, looking a bit lost, then seemed to shake it off and headed upstairs, calling goodnight to the boys. I saw through her bravado, though. I set the house and neighborhood watch for the night, then headed upstairs myself. I was grabbing my things for the morning, when I heard her tentative voice next door.

"Spot?"

"Yeah, Cat, I'm here," I said, stepping through the adjoining door into her room "I was just getting set for tomorrow. You turning in?" She nodded. "You gonna be okay?" I asked, looking at her lost expression.

"I don't know," she said, and I nodded. That made sense. I figured she would need some time to sort through her feelings. This wasn't home to her the way it was to me, so it was only natural that she would be nervous.

"I'll be next door reading," I said, hoping to reassure her. "Call if you want some company or if you need anything." She just nodded again, and I returned to my room. I settled onto my bed with a book, but for the first bit I was listening to make sure she had settled. Once both she and the dog were quiet and seemed to have nodded off, I headed downstairs to wash up and check in with Flex, the boy on house watch for the night before turning in myself.

I have a pretty good sixth sense, and it was this that woke me sometime around four am. I listened closely and heard a soft whimpering coming from the room next door. Katja was dreaming. I could tell the moment she woke up and heard her breathing heavily. I threw on some clothes, then walked over to the door.

"Cat?" I asked. "You okay?" She nodded, but her inability to look at me gave lie to the nod. I sat down beside her. "You want to talk about it?" I asked.

"I was just worrying about today," she said. She was chewing on her bottom lip and hugged her knees as she continued, "I am guessing I don't have my job anymore; even if I do, I don't know if I can work for Antonio again. What if he—"

"You are never going back there," I interrupted. "I won't let him near you." God, after all that, did she really think I expected her to just go to work as if nothing had happened? Did she really think I would let him near her?

"I just thought he might try to take me back there," she whispered.

"Where? Can you tell me about any of it?" I prompted, hoping she would open up about what she had experienced over the last few weeks.

Cat took a shuddering breath, then began to speak. At first her voice was a bit tremulous, but as she spoke the words came faster and the tremor stopped. She described the place and her feelings as that bastard pressured her and how he would take advantage of her. As she spoke tears fell, but I forced myself to stay quiet and just listen. I wanted to punch the wall, I wanted to wrap her in my arms, I wanted to yell and throw things, and I wanted to kill Santorelli with my bare hands. But I sat still, forcing myself to understand what she had been through. She described her utter faith in me, and it was all I could do to stay still. She had been counting on me, and I had let her down.

"I thought maybe that way I could see you again someday without getting you in trouble. I though maybe someday . . . " she trailed off. God. She had wanted to take a job as a prostitute just to see me again. I didn't know my heart could break any more, but somehow it did-in fact, what little was left shattered. "I guess I just thought that maybe if I tried hard enough, I could make everything okay and that somehow you would show up and make everything okay," she finished after a long silence.

"God, Cat," I managed. "I just—" I ran my hand through my hair. I had no idea what to say or even what to think. How could I have thought I could protect her? Her faith in me was so misplaced. I had let her down in the worst way possible-the biggest letdown in the history of mankind. I struggled to think of what I could say to her, why I deserved to even have her beside me when I felt her arms come around me. She leaned into me, and somehow I found myself laying on my back, her head in the crook of my right shoulder, my left hand holding her right on my chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. I had fancied myself a king, a leader. Some leader I was. Yet after all this she blamed herself and was apologizing to me? No way.

"No, Katja. Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. None of that was your fault. Nothing. It was mine. I should never have let you out of my sight. I should have found you. I should have . . . " I don't know what I should have, but she would NOT be allowed to think any of this was her fault. My throat constricted, and I fell silent.

"Spot?" she asked, and I tightened my arms around her, unable to speak. "Can we just forget about all of it? Can we just pretend that it never happened?"

"We can try," I managed to answer, taking comfort in the thought.


	52. Katja24--First Steps

AN: Well, I did say it would be a bit. Sorry for the wait. Hopefully these two slightly longer chapters make up for it. Thanks for the reviews, everyone-keep them coming! They feed my soul and fuel my desire to write more!

We must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I remember is warm sunshine on my face and my head on Spot's chest, rising and falling with his slow breathing. I didn't want to open my eyes and let in reality, but Spot must have sensed that I was awake.

"Hey," he said softly, and I propped myself up and looked at him. He had a small smile on his face.

"Good morning," I said, smiling shyly at him.

"The boys left to sell," he said, and my head snapped back to reality.

"What about you?" I asked, and suddenly I realized how many things I needed to think about.

"My priority is you," he said simply, and I started. Me? Why me? Was I really that helpless? Questions came flooding to my mind-about Spot, about how he had been looking for me, about the last few weeks . . . .

Of all the questions I had, the one that came out of my mouth was: "How did you know I was at Ms. Mina's?" I surprised even myself with that question.

He shrugged. "You told Pearl you were from Brooklyn, but that you hadn't told me you were coming. That set off red flags for her. Anybody that comes from Brooklyn to work there has to have my permission. She sent a runner over to tell me about the new girl, and I came over. God, I was so glad to find out it was you. I had hoped . . . ." He pulled me back down with one arm again, giving me a kiss on the top of the head as I laid it back on his chest.

"We looked for you, you know. In shifts. Anyone who could take time off from selling did. We asked people at your work, and we trailed that boss of yours everywhere he went. The boys even cornered him once. Threatened to soak him, but he swore that you had left and he didn't know where you were. He even invited us back to the apartment, but you weren't there. It was on the second floor, though-must've been a different apartment. The boys even snuck in once while he was at work and I did the same. You weren't there, and it didn't look like you'd been there. We asked everyone. Nobody'd seen you. God, every day we wondered and worried." I shivered and his arm tightened on my shoulders. "I'm just glad you're back. I missed you."

"I missed you, too," I said, and we lay there silently for a few moments before he continued.

"Can you ever forgive me for not finding you? For allowing that to happen to you?" he asked, his normally strong voice surprisingly thick. I was nonplussed. Forgive him? He hadn't hurt me-he had saved me. Clearly he didn't see it that way, though. I needed to reassure him that he was never the person I blamed-only the person to whom I was most grateful.

"I don't feel that I need to," I said slowly, trying to choose my words carefully. "But if you feel you need my forgiveness, you should know that you have it." I wanted to add that he was still and always my hero, but some sense stopped me. That would be too much.

"Thank you," he whispered into my hair, and I might have felt a tear on his face. I cuddled against him, and we once again fell silent. Alone in my head, I wondered about what was next. I couldn't keep depending on Spot like this. It wouldn't work financially, and he had his own goals. He needed to worry about running the lodging house and taking care of the boys, not me. I also needed to learn to fall asleep without the reassuring presence his arms provided. That part might be the hardest of all.

"So now what?" I asked, and I guess my apprehension was evident. He smiled at me.

"Today we just enjoy having you back. And we talk about the next steps. I have someone I'd like you to meet with, but only if you're up to it. We'll figure out a job for you soon enough. We started a jar for you, you know. The boys. They all put in money so you could stay with us and not have to work. For six weeks they've been saving. You'll be all paid up for awhile," he added with a smile.

"No. I can't take their money," I said, aghast. Spot smirked up at me.

"They won't take no for an answer."

I was quiet for a moment, taking that in. I knew he was right. Would I have done the same for one of the boys? I knew I would. But still, they had so little.

"So how do I pay them back? What are we doing today?" I asked again, finally sitting up.

"We're going after Santorelli," Spot said, sitting up beside me.

I couldn't help it. The warm, safe feeling left me with a rush, and I began trembling.

"You don't have to see him, Cat. We're going after him legally. We're going to talk to a lawyer. I want the bastard in prison. For life." I closed my eyes and nodded at this. If Spot thought that was best, I would trust him, but the thought of telling someone other than Spot about everything terrified me. I knew so little about these things.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he said, reaching for my hand. I kept my chin down and my eyes closed as he continued, "I know this lawyer. He's a friend, and I trust him."

I opened my eyes and looked at his hand holding mine. I moved my other hand to our joined ones and played with his fingers, staring at them and marveling at the way their strength flowed into me just through touching them. If Spot thought this was best, I would go along with it. I would do whatever he asked of me.

"Promise you'll be there?" I whispered.

Spot's free hand found my chin, and he lifted my face so that I met his gaze.

"I promise. I'm not leaving your side," he said, and he looked at me with those blue eyes. I trusted him, and I nodded.

"Okay," I whispered, not breaking eye contact. He raised his free hand to my face and rubbed his thumb over my cheek, and then the corners of his mouth turned up. He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and stood.

"Let's go. We can take a walk first, get some food, and then we'll go see Mr. Donovan." I stood, and we got ourselves ready and headed out.

"Where's Jimmy?" I asked as we were leaving. He had been there when Spot had come into my room this morning, but I realized he hadn't been there when we had awoken.

"Red came and got him," Spot said. "Probably took him down to Roller to go sell."

"So Red saw us?" I asked. I don't know why, but that made me uncomfortable.

"Yeah, but he won't think worse of you. He won't say anything, either. After all, we were just sleeping."

I nodded, though only marginally reassured, and we stepped into the early summer sunshine. It felt good to be outside with someone I trusted. I felt free—free to move about, free to make my own choices like I hadn't been able to do in the apartment with Antonio. But I also felt free of hunger and free of fear. Whenever my thoughts drifted to the future and the uncertainty ahead, I would look at Spot, and I would know that everything would be fine. We checked in on Roller and Jimmy, wandered through Prospect Park, and watched the ducks in the pond. I was pretty quiet, honestly. My mind was going in circles, and I still had a lot to sort out. So much had happened in the last two months. I didn't even feel like the same person who used to meet Papa at the bench every day. I had grown up more in these two months than in the previous sixteen years. But any time my thoughts became too dark or upsetting, it was as if my mind sent out a distress beacon. Each time Spot would simply put a hand on my shoulder or brush his fingers against mine, and the contact would draw me back to the present.

By lunchtime I had started to feel more at ease; it was good to be home. But in the back of my mind was the gnawing sense of foreboding at the thought of meeting with a complete stranger and telling him everything. I couldn't eat much, but I tried. We headed over to the business district, and there in one of the nicer office buildings Spot led me to that of Mr. H. Donovan, Esq., City of New York. He led me inside directly past the receptionist, who greeted him by his real name, and toward an office door.

He knocked briefly, then opened the door.

"Thomas! Right on time. Are you ready?" a kindly male voice said.

"Actually, I have something I'd like to discuss with you," Spot said, and I was surprised at his voice. The Brooklyn accent was almost gone, and he sounded like he belonged in the office. He gently pulled me inside, keeping a hold of my hand as he did so.

"This is Katja Fischer, and we need your help. Katja is the victim of a crime, but she is a little nervous about reporting it due to her guardianship status and the nature of the crime. However, we think it's important enough to pursue an indictment. Can you help us out?"

Boy, if Spot had never surprised me before, he certainly did now. Indictment? I didn't even know what that was. Guardianship status? What in the world? I suddenly felt way out of my league, and I had no idea what was going on. How did Spot know this stuff? And who called him Thomas? None of the boys even knew that name. I looked up at this Mr. Donovan and found myself looking at a man that reminded me a bit of Papa. He had a kind face and gentle greenish eyes that were gazing at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. I bit my lip. What was I expected to do?

"Of course. Ms. Fischer, please, have a seat. I'm Harry Donovan. Would you like Thomas to stay while we talk?" he asked.

I nodded, then became aware of how rude that seemed. "Yes, sir," I managed, though not with much volume.

"It's alright, Ms. Fischer. Our young Mister Conlon and I have known each other awhile, and any friend of his is a friend of mine. There's no need to be formal here. Why don't we just start at the beginning? I'm guessing based on what he said that you do not have any other family?" I nodded again, and before I could open my mouth to croak out an answer, Mr. Donovan continued. "Well then, I'm guessing that your official status is that of Ward of the State, currently residing at the Working Girls' Home or one of the orphanages?" I opened my mouth to explain, but Spot beat me to it. That was good since I wasn't sure what to say.

"Actually, Katja is staying with us—unofficially, of course—for her protection. Once you hear why you'll understand."

I continued to stare at the carpet, blushing furiously. Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I would not let—never mind. The shame of being here was stronger than my desire not to shed them. Mr. Donovan, who had taken a breath to ask his next question, stopped at that. Spot took my hands in his and spoke quietly to me.

"Cat? Do you want me to tell him everything?" I nodded, unable to respond.

He squeezed my hands, then turned and began explaining everything to Mr. Donovan. Spot told him how we had been friends and how we had witnessed my father's death. He told him about the police visiting my house and about how the newsies had removed me from my childhood home and taken me in. He told me about how Santorelli had tricked me into coming to stay with him so that he could keep me hidden. He told him about the things Santorelli did to me. He told him about how I had run away and how I had just returned to Brooklyn, though he mercifully left out the details of how we had been reunited. He even explained that I would be staying either with the boys or at an undisclosed location until everything was over.

Mr. Donovan listened without interruption through the whole thing. I just clutched Spot's hand, stared at the carpet, and fought unsuccessfully with the tears-thankfully with a handkerchief Spot had had the foresight to bring along. When Spot finished, Mr. Donovan let the silence hang in the room for a few minutes before saying anything.

"Well then, Thomas, I will need some time to work on Ms. Fischer's case. There are a lot of considerations I will need to work through, and there is a good chance that I will have further questions in the coming days. It's likely I will need to ask detailed and uncomfortable questions, and there is a high likelihood that Ms. Fischer will need to testify. You will have to start with a police report," he said.

"Yes, sir," Spot said.

"There's another thing. In cases like this, there are usually more victims. Ms. Fischer, do you know of anyone else to whom this man could have done such things?" Mr. Donovan asked.

I was caught off guard. Someone else? He had hurt someone the way he had hurt me? How? Where? When? I was so surprised at the question that I actually think I was staring at Mr. Donovan. I shook myself.

"I don't know," I said, trying to think back to my time at the factory and back when Papa was alive. It seemed like so long ago.

"It is always helpful if there are multiple witnesses," Mr. Donovan said. "If you can ask around or think of anyone, please do. But be careful. Don't talk to anyone yourself. Send them to me," he cautioned. I nodded again.

"Very well. This will take some time. I trust you will assist me along the way?" he asked, turning to Spot.

"You can count on it," Spot said, and I could hear an undertone of something in his voice.

"Alright, then. I will see you on Thursday. If you can think of anyone by then, that would be helpful. We'll discuss the police report then. I would rather wait until we have enough to indict before we have him arrested. For now, let me mull this over, and I should have something for you by Thursday. I trust Ms. Fischer is safe enough until then?" Mr. Donovan asked.

"Of course," Spot said, and Mr. Donovan smiled knowingly.

"Then I will see you both on Thursday?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." He stood and shook Mr. Donovan's hand, and my conscience bested my fears. I looked up at the kind, green eyes.

"Thank you, sir," I whispered.

"Anything for a friend of Thomas's, Ms. Fischer," he replied, pulling open his office door. We headed back through the lobby past the secretary, whom Spot greeted politely, before heading back onto the street. The sunshine seemed to melt my tension, leaving me with a lot of questions.

"Who was that?" I asked once I could finally speak. I think it was pretty obvious to him that my question wasn't what I was actually asking. He grinned and led me down to the docks. We sat on a crate looking at the river as he explained.

"It started with a few ideas your Pa had. We talked about my life after selling papes. We talked about volunteering for a business and gettin' my foot in the door. Anyway, last summer after the strike Governor Roosevelt gave me a ride back to Brooklyn in his carriage. I took advantage of the time with him to get some advice. He seemed to take a liking to me, and he set me up with Mr. Donovan. I've been studying law and gaining practical experience every Tuesday and Thursday at lunch for almost a year now. I've been saving for years now, too. I'm hoping to go to college in a few years. Don't tell the fellas, though. Nobody knows. Anyway, Mr. Donovan's been a great mentor and friend—sort of like your Pa was."

I was floored. Up until Papa died, I had been a naïve girl, wondering about whether any boys wanted to kiss me and dreaming of maybe catching a vaudeville show. Meanwhile Spot had been saving his pennies for college, taking care of boys, running the lodging house, and still somehow looking after me. I looked at him in awe. He glanced over at me and suddenly began to squirm.

"Stop it, Cat," he said, clearly uncomfortable.

"Stop what?" I asked, baffled.

"Stop looking at me like you're one of the little boys who wants to be able to soak someone like I do," he said.

"Huh?"

"You had that look—the one the boys give me when I'm their hero," he said, and it struck me that he was embarrassed.

"Well, you are," I said, realizing I meant it.

"Not much of one," he muttered.

"You are to me," I murmured back.

"God, Cat, you really are something," he said, looking at me intently. He had this light in his eyes, as if he thought I was his hero.

"Why?" I was honestly confused.

"You've been through so much in the last few months. Things nobody should have to experience. Things that would make people cynical and bitter. But you just look at me with that trusting innocence. As if I could fix anything," he said.

"You've never let me down," I responded, and he grimaced.

"How can you say that?" he asked, and I detected the frustration and maybe even a hint of bitterness in his voice. His jaw was doing that angry flexing thing again.

"You haven't," I said. "You saved me from those thugs last year. You kept me safe when Papa died. You gave me somewhere to go. You came to me in Manhattan in the rain. You helped me fall asleep, and you brought me to Mr. Donovan. You've given me a place to stay when by rights I should be in an orphanage. You haven't let go of my hand in hours because you somehow sense that I need it. You're always there, and you always have an answer. I can always count on you. I trust you; I know you'll always figure out a way to help me."

Spot brought his hand up to my face, and his eyes still had that shining light as he listened to me. His thumb brushed my cheek, and suddenly my stomach was doing that weird flip flopping thing again and I couldn't break from his gaze.

"I promise to try," he said as he leaned in and kissed me. It was just a brief, light touch, but wow. I didn't know my insides could survive that, or that it was addictive. I smiled at him. He smiled back at me, then leaned in again for another kiss.

"Wow," I breathed when we parted.

"We'll have to do that again sometime," Spot said, and I giggled. "For now, let's get some food." He hopped off the crate, and I followed.

As we walked down the street, we passed a mounted police officer. I saw the uniform, and the last few weeks of avoiding the police caused an almost instant reaction. I shrank back. Suddenly Spot grabbed me and pushed me against a wall and kissed me roughly. It surprised me, and I confess it scared me a bit, especially since there was almost no emotion in it. It was abrupt and harsh and a bit aggressive. Thankfully, he pulled back quickly, and I gasped.

"Sorry," he whispered, and I was really confused.

"Spot?" I asked, a bit breathless.

"You flinched away from that police officer, and it's the quickest way to draw attention. I had to do something to cover your movement," he whispered. "It was the first thing that came to mind."

"It just—they still make me nervous," I said softly, trying not to look at the officer over his shoulder.

Suddenly he had a mischievous grin. "C'mon. I'll fix ya," he said, grasping my hand and pulling me toward the officer.

"Spot—" I said.

"Officer, sir," he said, and I noticed the Brooklyn accent was firmly back in place. "Sir, me goil's afraid a' yer horse, and Ise wondrin' if she could come over and pet 'im." He looked up impishly at the officer, who glared down at us. "E's such a pretty horse. E yours? I bet e's a fast one." He tugged my hand and drew me closer. I looked fearfully up at the officer, who was now looking imperiously down at Spot.

"Fred here is the fastest horse on the force," the officer said as I reached out and touched the horse's soft nose. There's just something about the nose of a horse. It just relaxes me. As soon as I started to soften, Spot's hand pulled me back sharply, and I realized he had made it seem like I had flinched away from the horse.

"T'anks, officer. We's gonna leave you an' Fred to do yer work. Bye," Spot prattled, dragging me away.

"There is no way that animal is the fastest on the force," I said once we were out of earshot. "The poor thing has the straightest hocks I've ever seen, and its head was cocked so far to the left it probably has a permanent headache."

"Hey, you really know your stuff," Spot said, giving me a funny look.

"Two years of watching me take care of Papa's horses and you're just now realizing that?" I shot back.

"Four," he said, and I looked at him quizzically. "You and your Pa were buying from me for two years before you ever spoke with me," he said. I raised an eyebrow at him in surprise.

"Darlin', you don't get to be king of Brooklyn without noticing things, and you don't sell 250 papes a day if you don't pay attention to your customers." He was laughing, and I couldn't help but laugh in admiration.

"Okay, your highness. Let's get some food," I said, and we continued on our way.

After a bowl of soup, we headed over to the docks again and met up with the boys. Now that summer was here and the days were longer, the boys were spending the time outside at the docks swimming. I leaned up against Spot as he leaned back against a crate. He put his arms loosely around me as we watched Roller and another of the younger boys, Tooth, trying to push one another in. The sun was going down, and I have to say that watching the sunset over Manhattan was really pretty.

Who knew? Lots of emotional swings in a day can wear a person out. I guess I fell asleep at the docks, because the next thing I knew Spot was gently shaking me awake and it was almost dark out. A few of the older boys were still talking nearby, but most of them had headed in. Spot and I headed inside, and I sleepily washed up and crawled into bed. Spot came over to my bed and leaned over to give me another soft kiss before heading to his own bed. I drifted back off, more content than I had been in months.


	53. Spot24--Starting Back

I heard the boys up. This isn't the first time I haven't sold with them in the morning, obviously-they probably aren't surprised that I am not there. Red very quietly poked his head into my room and, not seeing me, slipped in and peered through the adjoining door. I glanced lazily up at him, and he took the hint.

"Dog," I mouthed before he could turn away. He looked at Jimmy on the floor, gestured for him to follow. The dog looked at me, then at Red, then back at me. I gestured for him to go, and he obediently trotted after Red, who closed the door to my room. A few minutes later the boys were gone, and I went back to sleep, Katja's head on my chest.

When I woke up, Cat was already awake. When she asked how I knew she was at Ms. Mina's, I surprised myself. I am not generally wordy, but somehow giving a thorough answer seemed important. I knew it was helping alleviate her confusion, but I think talking it out might have been more for my benefit.

" . . . God, I was so glad to find out it was you. I had hoped . . . ." Here I trailed off and pulled her closer. I don't think I can ever adequately express the depth of what I had felt when she was gone and that spark when I thought she might be back. "We looked for you," I continued, telling her about the search. ". . . . God, every day we wondered and worried. I'm just glad you're back. I missed you."

"I missed you, too," she said, and I thought again about what she had gone through. She had been alone in that apartment, waiting for me to get her out, with no one for company but that bastard who hurt her. I hadn't trusted him, and I had even been inside that very building looking for her, yet somehow I had not gotten her out. I had left her to be hurt and scared-and alone.

"Can you ever forgive me for not finding you? For allowing that to happen to you?" I asked. I don't actually know why I asked. I certainly didn't deserve her forgiveness, and this seemed such a crass time to ask, but I couldn't help it. I needed to know if she could ever forgive me. My selfishness at this moment just compounded my guilt at even asking.

"I don't feel that I need to," she said. "But if you feel you need my forgiveness, you should know that you have it."

Of course I should have known. Katja is the kindest, most loving, most giving, human being I know. She doesn't judge anyone, ever. And she always assumes the best in people. "Thank you," I said, overwhelmed by the depth of her goodness. I might not ever forgive myself, but at least she has offered forgiveness even before her own healing. Now it was my job to help her move forward.

"So now what?" she asked, and I smiled.

"Today we just enjoy having you back. And we talk about the next steps. I have someone I'd like you to meet with, but only if you're up to it. We'll figure out a job for you soon enough. We started a jar for you, you know. The boys. They all put in money so you could stay with us and not have to work. For two months they've been saving. You'll be all paid up for awhile," I explained. Red had even told me last night that the boys would want to cover my own lodging while I wasn't selling. I didn't tell them I couldn't and wouldn't take it, but it was sweet of them. Apparently Cat felt the same way because she protested, sitting up as she did so.

"So how do I pay them back? What are we doing today?" she asked.

"We're going after Santorelli," I said, and a look of such fear crossed her face that I wanted to kill him again and again. She was trembling. "You don't have to see him, Cat," I explained, hoping to ease her fright. I should have been more careful in my choice of words and my timing. "We're going after him legally. We're going to talk to a lawyer. I want the bastard in prison. For life." I had thought about this a lot, and life in prison would be harsher than any soaking short of killing him that we could dole out-and I wasn't a killer. Even if he did deserve it. I took her hand as I continued, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I know this lawyer. He's a friend, and I trust him."

"Promise you'll be there?" she whispered, staring at our intertwined hands. Did she really think I would leave her side now? Or ever, for that matter?

"I promise. I'm not leaving your side," I said, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. I needed to know she was okay with this.

"Okay," she said, and I could see in her eyes that she meant it. I marveled at her resolve and her trust in me. I couldn't make the day or the coming weeks any easier, but at the very least I could ensure she had a pleasant morning before we met with Mr. Donovan.

We actually did. It was a beautiful day, and we had particular fun with the dog and Roller. It was nice to see Katja relaxing a bit. We kept it simple, with minimal physical activity-sitting on a park bench feeding ducks, a slow stroll through the park, window shopping with lots of stops. I tried to get her to eat as much as I could. Every once in awhile she would start to get that far away, haunted look. The first time I touched her shoulder, and I could see her come back. She turned to me with a grateful smile, and after that every time her mind started to wander I would reach out to touch her. Hey, whatever helps, right? To me, the most beautiful sound in the world was the small laugh she gave a few times that morning. In those moments the need to protect was able to take a back seat, and my desire to kiss her reemerged. I realized again that I wanted to spend the rest of my life trying to make her smile and laugh like that.

Around eleven we grabbed a quick bite before heading over to Mr. Donovan's office. I could see Katja's increasing nervousness, and my protective instinct was fully active by the time we entered the building.

"Hello there, Thomas," Mrs. Hall, the secretary greeted me. I winked at her cheekily like I do every time, then headed straight back to the office. I knew Mr. Donovan was expecting me, and his door was slightly ajar, meaning he wasn't with a client. I knocked once, then entered, Katja close on my heels but stopping in the doorway. I could see her eyes moving wildly around the room, lingering on the windows. I pulled her inside and introduced her, glancing between her and Mr. Donovan worriedly. I hoped she wouldn't panic. Instead she surprised me by looking up at him briefly. That seemed to settle her enough for her hand to stop trembling in mine, even if she did look back down quickly. That was a good sign. She liked him, even if she didn't know it yet.

"Of course. Ms. Fischer, please, have a seat. I'm Harry Donovan. Would you like Thomas to stay while we talk?" Mr. Donovan asked. Like hell I was leaving, but I didn't say it.

She nodded, then screwed up her face and rasped, "yes, sir." I knew by the sound how much effort even that much had cost her, and I worried she wouldn't be able to tell him much.

Mr. Donovan put her at ease a bit with a few simple questions. When he asked about where she was staying, I could see her confusion and stepped in. "Actually, Katja is staying with us—unofficially, of course—for her protection. Once you hear why you'll understand." I could see her control slipping, and her tears began to fall. I looked up at Mr. Donovan briefly, noting his concerned face, but my attention was on Katja. She was crying silently, but I could see that speaking was beyond her at this point, and with her permission I took over the explanation. The death grip she had on my hand throughout told me it was a good thing I had taken over.

"Well then, Thomas, I will need some time to work on Ms. Fischer's case. There are a lot of considerations I will need to work through, and there is a good chance that I will have further questions in the coming days. It's likely I will need to ask detailed and uncomfortable questions, and there is a high likelihood that Ms. Fischer will need to testify. You will have to start with a police report," he said.

"Yes, sir," I replied, thinking about when the best time to do that would be.

"There's another thing. In cases like this, there are usually more victims. Ms. Fischer, do you know of anyone else to whom this man could have done such things?" Mr. Donovan asked.

Well, that's something I hadnt considered. My mind was already racing, trying to think of ways I could get information of such a quiet and sensitive nature.

"I don't know," Katja was saying, and her surprise was evident. We'll have to discuss this, I thought.

"It is always helpful if there are multiple witnesses," Mr. Donovan said. If you can ask around or think of anyone, please do. But be careful. Don't talk to anyone yourself. Send them to me," he cautioned. Katja nodded. The law student in me saw the wisdom in this even as the newsie leader in me wanted to take matters into my own hands.

"Very well. This will take some time. I trust you will assist me along the way?" Mr. Donovan was asking me.

"You can count on it," I practically growled, my fury and revulsion at Santorelli barely contained by my desire to protect and help Katja.

We took our leave and headed outside. "Who was that?" Katja inevitably asked. I led her down to the docks, and we sat there while I explained about my law studies. When I finished, she was looking at me with such admiration and adoration in her eyes that it made me uncomfortable. It was one thing coming from little kids like Tyke, the new kid. It was quite another from someone I adored-especially given how undeserved it was.

"Stop it, Cat," I muttered.

"Stop what?" she asked, looking perplexed.

"Stop looking at me like you're one of the little boys who wants to be able to soak someone like I do," I said.

"Huh?"

"You had that look—the one the boys give me when I'm their hero," I said. It was a bit unnerving to have someone like her look at me like that. She was my friend, not some dame or some kid who didn't know any better.

"Well, you are," she responded, and the part of me that was still wresting with the guilt of letting her down rejected the idea immediately.

"Not much of one," I couldn't help saying..

"You are to me," she said, and I knew she meant it. I had no idea why, but for some reason she really thought I was her hero. She really had no idea, did she? I couldn't be her hero because she was mine. She had such an innate kindness and goodness about her that was unique. There are people in the world who are kind because they should be, and there are people who are kind to those they love. There are people who are kind most of the time. Katja was good and kind to ALL people ALL the time-and she did not understand that not everyone was that way. While that was perhaps a bit naive, it was all the more impressive because she just assumed the best in everyone and didn't know how to do anything else. That goodness made her the most amazing person I had ever met. It was a trait I wished desperately I could emulate and knew instinctively that nobody ever could.

"God, Cat, you really are something," I said.

"Why?" she asked. She didn't know. How could she? How could someone to whom kindness came so naturally see it as a strength? It was just who she was.

"You've been through so much in the last few months. Things nobody should have to experience. Things that would make people cynical and bitter. But you just look at me with that trusting innocence. As if I could fix anything," I said, hoping she could understand that her admiration of me was misplaced and that it was her trust that was so incredible.

"You've never let me down," she said, and suddenly the frustration of the last few weeks overwhelmed me.

"How can you say that?" I asked bitterly. My anger at myself for searching all of Brooklyn except the other floors of the building that we'd suspected was something I would probably carry with me for a long time in spite of the forgiveness Katja had promised that very morning. I had her forgiveness, but I wondered if I would ever have my own.

"You haven't," she said simply. "You saved me from those thugs last year. You kept me safe when Papa died. You gave me somewhere to go. You came to me in Manhattan in the rain. You helped me fall asleep, and you brought me to Mr. Donovan. You've given me a place to stay when by rights I should be in an orphanage. You haven't let go of my hand in hours because you somehow sense that I need it. You're always there, and you always have an answer. I can always count on you. I trust you; I know you'll always figure out a way to help me."

Her words were soothing-not because they erased the mistakes I had made, but because they reminded me that at least I was doing things that were helping her. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life making sure she had everything she needed. I wanted to make her smile, to hear her laugh, to make her happy. I wanted to be around her to see her goodness and kindness. I wanted her to be mine.

I couldn't help myself. I reached up and touched her face, that beautiful, soft, trusting face. She was looking at me so intently. "I promise to try," I whispered, and I meant it. Then I closed the gap and kissed her. Mindful of what she had been through, I barely touched her lips with mine before pulling back to look at her, wanting to make sure this was okay. She was smiling. Relief washed over me, and I leaned back in and kissed her again.

"Wow," she said as I pulled back, and that single word made me feel more alive than I had since New Year's. Maybe somehow, there was still hope for us. But for now, there were other things that needed to happen-like eating, my stomach reminded me.

"We'll have to do that again sometime," I said, and her giggle made my heart soar. Okay, that sounds sappy, but it was true. "For now, let's get some food," I said, heading toward Ray's Diner.

I saw the cop before she did. Years of being a street kid give you that sixth sense about when there are bulls around, and I have seen more than one person shrink away from them. It's that precise action that tends to draw attention, and that knowledge has become highly ingrained. So when Katja flinched, I was instinctively ready for it, just as I had been in years past. I have helped more than one newsie out of a scrape like this, though I often throw a punch or shove one of the boys to make it look like we are roughhousing. I did have to help Gemma, one of my female newsies, out of this situation once, and I did now what I had done then. I grabbed Cat, pushed her into the wall, and kissed her. It wasn't a real kiss, at least not in my mind. I pulled back quickly, mindful of the fact that I might very well have scared her and that if she panicked, we would draw more attention.

"Sorry," I whispered, hoping she wouldn't be too angry. She had every right to be, and I half expected her to slap me. Instead she just said my name, confused but still with that underlying trust implied in the question.

"You flinched away from that police officer, and it's the quickest way to draw attention. I had to do something to cover your movement," I explained.

"It just—they still make me nervous," she said, and I could see that she was upset with herself for being afraid of a police officer on a horse.

Actually, the horse gave me an idea, and I pulled her toward the cop with a grin.

"Spot—" she protested, but I was quicker.

"Officer, sir," I said. "Sir, me goil's afraid a' yer horse, and Ise wondrin' if she could come over and pet 'im. "E's such a pretty horse. E yours? I bet e's a fast one." Flattery never hurt, and I pulled Katja toward the animal. She likes animals, and this would help.

"Fred here is the fastest horse on the force," the man said haughtily, and I nodded with wide, naive eyes. Katja moved to pet the horse, but before she could I tugged on her hand and she backed away. However, the look in her eyes had softened, and I knew she was feeling a bit less fearful. I thanked the cop and pulled her down the road, turning up the next street and out of his sight.

"There is no way that animal is the fastest on the force. The poor thing has the straightest hocks I'd ever seen, and its head was cocked so far to the left it probably has a permanent headache," Katja said. I knew she understood horses-I had watched her take care of that grey horse of her father's for years-but I hadnt realized she was that knowledgeable. I looked at her in surprise and a bit of admiration.

"Hey, you really know your stuff," I observed.

"Two years of watching me take care of Papa's horses and you're just now realizing that?" she replied lightly.

"Four," I answered automatically. "You and your Pa were buying from me for two years before you ever spoke with me." When she looked at me in surprise, it was my turn to tease her. "Darlin', you don't get to be king of Brooklyn without noticing things, and you don't sell 250 papes a day if you don't pay attention to your customers."

"Okay, your highness. Let's get some food," she said, and I have to say that the lighthearted banter was the most wonderful thing I had seen in awhile. This was my Katja, and it felt so good to have her back, even just partially. What followed was a pleasant evening on the docks watching the boys play while Katja fell asleep in my arms. Yes, I could get used to this.


	54. Katja 25--Fighter?

The next morning I woke up to Spot's hand on my shoulder. I smiled up at him, and he leaned in for a quick kiss.

"Good morning," he grinned at me. "We're heading over to the distribution center soon, but I wanted to see your smile before I left." I sat up as he continued, "I'm leaving you two bits for food and of course your faithful dog," he gestured to the tail-wagging creature looking on from two feet away. "Don't go far, and find someone if you need anything. Even just a friend," he added.

"Sure," I said, fighting down the nerves at the idea of a day on my own. I couldn't hold Spot back forever; he needed to be selling if he was to have any kind of future, and I needed to stop being so dependent on him. I could do this.

"Meet me at Ray's for lunch?" he asked.

"Sure," I said again, blushing at my seemingly repetitive and mindless answers.

"Cat, you are cute when you blush," Spot said, sitting down on the bed and pulling me in for another kiss. Boy, I have to say that even a handful of soft kisses in the course of a day were not enough. I was getting far to comfortable with them. I wondered briefly about that; I didn't want to become dependent on them—or him. That train of thought was halted by the flipping feeling in my stomach as this one lasted a bit longer than the previous ones. Spot pulled away suddenly.

"I'd better go or I'll be tempted to stay with you all day again," he chuckled, then headed over to the bunkroom to wake the boys. I dressed quickly and saw them off, then headed out with Jimmy.

The morning was uneventful. In fact, it was so uneventful that I realized I was lonely and a bit bored. I used the time to clean the washroom of the lodging house and to play with Jimmy. But mostly I thought. I thought about how much I missed Mama and Papa. I wondered about Hazel. I actually debated going to see Ingrid, but I decided I wasn't quite ready to do that. I did make a mental note to ask Spot to let her know I was okay, though. I thought about what Spot had said months ago about Red leaving as soon as the right ship came along, and about what Roller would do without his de facto big brother. I thought about the girls over at Miss Mina's who had been so kind to me and about what Spot had said about his permission to work there. That got me thinking about Spot.

Spot was a working boy; a tough street kid with a fierce reputation that was obviously earned. I had seen him fight, after all. Heck, I had even seen him sparring with the older boys (often two to one) just for fun and teaching some of the younger ones to fight last summer. I also remembered his kissing Minnie on New Years Eve—that was certainly a more passionate kiss than any he and I had shared. His words came back to me, too:

"Katja, sex is just that. Sex. It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone does it. These girls just do it for a living. Everyone else hides it. Just relax."

"Anybody that comes from Brooklyn to work there has to have my permission."

It suddenly occurred to me that Spot probably knew a whole lot more than I did about these things. The thought didn't sit well. Where did I fit in? I honestly had no idea, and I didn't really know where I stood with him at all. I wondered vaguely if any person actually deserved someone as amazing as Spot. No, I don't think so. I knew I certainly didn't deserve him, but the selfish part of me was unwilling to give up even the kisses I did get from him. At least not yet, not while I still felt so vulnerable and emotional. No, once I got stronger—then I could handle losing him to his reputation, his schooling, another woman . . . . At least, I hoped so. Maybe I could be tougher like Minnie? Maybe even learn to fight?

That was it. I would get the boys to teach me to fight. Then Spot wouldn't need to look out for me so much, and I could fit in to his world a bit better. I wouldn't be so helpless, such a burden. It was a plan, at any rate. Even if I really couldn't imagine hitting anybody.

I headed over to Ray's to meet Spot, lost in thought the whole way. I was so concentrated I almost walked past it.

"You must be dreamin' about me," Spot's cheeky voice interrupted my reverie. Oh, the irony. I grinned at him.

"Don't you wish," I shot back, almost surprising myself. I hadn't teased him like that since before everything had gone wrong. His smirk broke into a smile as he replied in kind.

"I don't need to wish. I know," he said, giving me a dramatic wink. I laughed as we headed into the restaurant. We spent an enjoyable hour over a meal, and I have to say that I felt like my old self for much of the time. I didn't realize how different I had been lately. I said as much to Spot as we walked out of Ray's.

"You've been through a lot, Cat. Of course you need time to get it figured out. You'll get it sorted. For now we'll take the good and the bad as they come," he said. I nodded, and he grabbed my hand as we walked back toward the distribution center. My heart fluttered a bit, and I wondered at that. Why was it that his hand sometimes steadied me and gave me strength and sometimes made me all jittery? I took a moment to steady myself, trying to pretend that his hand on mine did not make me a bit breathless.

"Can you teach me to fight?" I asked, my mind going back to what I had been thinking earlier. Spot looked at me in surprise.

"What brought this on?" he asked, and my heart sank. He didn't want me to learn?

"I just thought-" I trailed off, looking down at my feet as we walked.

Spot stopped, turning me to stand in front of him. He put his fingers on my chin and brought my gaze up to his. He leaned in, kissed me briefly, and then said, "If that's what you want, yeah, I can teach you. You just surprised me."

I smiled at him. "Thanks," I said, and we walked on. We reached the distribution center just as the bell began to ring for the next edition.

"I'll see you tonight," Spot said, giving me another quick kiss as we parted. I smiled at him, turned to pet Jimmy at my feet, and headed back to the lodging house.


	55. Spot25--Ideas?

Well, that was a surprise. Cat, a fighter? I smiled at the thought as I handed a pape to Mrs. Crowston. She wasn't a fighter. Aside from the fact that she wasn't particularly strong, she just didn't have a fighter's instinct. Still, the thought made me smile because she was simply so adorable and because teaching her could be really fun. I wondered what had brought it on.

In truth, I'd had a bit of a day. It had started pleasantly enough, and there is always something nice about familiar routines and regular customers, but my mind was still a bit preoccupied. We had to find additional witnesses and possibly victims. I had an idea on how to go about it, but I worried about being discreet. Katja probably didn't want anyone knowing what had happened to her, and I wasn't going to be the one who let t he cat out of the bag. I spent the morning mulling over the problem, and my lunch date with Katja was a welcome break from the constant worry. In that respect it was a bit like old times-a mid-day selling break spent with Katja.

The banter was fun; it was good to see that we could still tease one another lightly. Not only that, but I was allowed to kiss her. In fact, she seemed to enjoy that part almost as much as I did. I did worry about her request to learn to fight, though. Did she feel she needed to learn to protect herself? Maybe I should have told her that I had Pike and Trug keeping a discreet eye on her today as she was on her own. Nah. She needed to feel independent and confident, and the boys had really only been for my peace of mind. She had been too embarrassed to tell me, but I figured maybe in time she would. As I sold my afternoon papes, my mind went back to the predicament of finding out if Santorelli had any other victims, and eventually I was able to formulate some semblance of a plan.


	56. Katja26--Dear Hazel

Wednesday, May 16th, 1900

Dear Hazel,

I hardly know how to write this, but it's supposed to help. At least, Spot says so. Anyway, I always trusted you, and I needed to write you anyway, so here goes. I hope you won't judge me after reading this.

First off, I am sorry I haven't written. I am sure you've heard by now that Papa died. I miss him so much every day. He was always there for me with advice and answers. I never knew how much I needed to learn about the world until he was gone. Things went kind of crazy after that. Spot and Red were there when the accident happened, and they moved me into the Newsboys Lodging House pretty quickly. It sounds weird and maybe immoral, living with a bunch of boys like that, but it wasn't like that. I had my own room, and I was just there for one night before things changed.

The police wanted to come and take my things and put me in an orphanage. That's why I went to the newsies. But they found me and even came to work to get me. I was scared, so Mr. Santorelli, my boss, took me to his apartment. He kept me hidden there for five weeks. While I was there, he did things to me-bad things. Spot says none of it was my fault, but it sure feels like it was. I guess I just went along with it because I thought I should. Eventually, though, I ran away and lived on the streets-until this past Sunday. That's when Spot found me, and he brought me back to Brooklyn. I am back in my room at the newsies lodging house now, and yesterday Spot took me to see his friend Mr. Donovan. He's a lawyer, and he is going to help us. I dont really understand it all, but Spot does, and I trust him.

And now we get to the real reason for my letter. You see, Spot thinks I need to write you to talk through what Mr. Santorelli did to me, and maybe I do. But I'm not ready for that yet. In fact, I'm not really ready for anyone to know about it. I really want to talk through Spot, though. You were always the person I could talk to about things like that.

After what happened I don't think I will ever have a normal life. Nobody will want me, and I can understand that. I don't deserve a normal relationship. But I can't help myself. I still want it. I wish I could go back in time-back to before Papa died. Back then I thought maybe Spot would want that with me. And if not Spot, maybe I could find someone almost as amazing as he is. But now I doubt it will ever happen. Who wants a used up person like me?

But here's the thing. Spot kissed me yesterday and again today. He knows about everything that happened, and he kissed me anyway. I really wanted him to. He makes my insides all mushy when he does that. But I can't keep expecting that. I realize now how much I care about him, and I want him to find someone worthy of him, but it hurts that I am not that girl. He has been so wonderful these last few days and even weeks. I'd be lost without him. I always want to know what he thinks about things. I want his advice. I love it when we tease each other. He makes me feel safe and happy and good about myself. I wish it could be like that forever.

I guess what I am saying is that I really care about him. I have always loved him in a way, and now I wonder if I might not even love him the way I should have before everything. But I don't deserve him, and I don't think he'll ever love me that way now. So is it wrong to kiss him? Or to let him kiss me? I'm not really sure why he wants to; I know he has a reputation and all, but it doesn't feel like it's like that. They're just little kisses, so it's okay, right?

Spot wants to be a lawyer. He's going to be a rich man someday when that happens. I want to help him along the way, and right now he is paying for me from his savings. That makes me uncomfortable. I am going to pay him back so that he can achieve his dream. See, that's the other reason I can't think of a future with Spot. When he's rich and fancy, he won't want a girl like me. So I think I want to find a job further away-maybe Manhattan. Maybe even somewhere further away, somewhere I can live on a farm and work with horses all the time. Maybe some farmhand somewhere would even want a girl like me someday.

Anyway, not just yet. I need to find a way to pay Spot and the other boys back first. And I would really love your advice. I haven't spoken to Ingrid about any of this yet. I don't know if I want her knowing what happened to me and what kind of girl I've become. For now you can still write to me at the Newsboys Lodging House on Poplar Street. Just address anything to Cat Smith. I miss you. Let me know how things are in St. Louis.

Forever your friend,

Katja

I signed the letter with a flourish. Spot and I had talked about my writing it over lunch, and while it helped, I don't know if it was what Spot had in mind. I think he wanted me to write about Santorelli and everything that had happened. But I wasn't ready for that yet. Maybe next letter. Maybe with Ingrid. I knew it was only a matter of time, what with Mr. Donovan and all, but for now I just didn't want anyone to know about it.


	57. Spot26--Gina Again

So it occurred to me awhile ago that some of the girls from the factory lived at the Working Girls' House. Those were the most vulnerable ones-girls with no family. And my female newsies lived there-Goldie and Gemma and Pixie and Fists were the older ones. Maybe they had heard something. But of course I would need to be discreet. Goldie would be best for that. She and Katja had gotten along well when they'd met, and she was better at both getting information and being discreet. I just needed to phrase it carefully so that she wouldn't make the connection that this was about Katja. Even if she put two and two together, as I am sure Red had, she wouldn't say anything. I was not going to tell anyone anything Katja didn't want them to know.

I could also ask Katja. I know she had put it out of her mind, but we did need to talk about it. Maybe she could think of someone to ask. Heck, maybe asking herself might help her feel better about all that's happened. I know she's feeling insecure, though I haven't quite been able to pinpoint why or in what capacity. We'll have to work on that, too. She's never been super confident. Maybe that's why she wants to learn to fight?

I thought about that, too. I couldn't see Cat throwing a punch, though I would certainly do my best to teach her. I figured a slingshot would be a good way to go, and I could certainly teach her some ways to defend herself.

"Hey, doll," a voice broke me out of my reverie. I turned and saw Gina walking toward me.

"Gina," I said, trying to keep my voice guarded and neutral.

"Haven't seen you in awhile. Where you been?" she asked.

"Been busy," I said evasively. I hadnt seen Gina or anyone at Ms. Cara's in over eight months.

"Last I heard, you were looking for someone. A girl. I've been keeping an eye out. Find her yet?" she smiled at me firtatiously. I could see she was trying to be helpful and understanding, but at this point I just wanted to get back to my thoughts about helping the girl in question.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks for the help, though," I said. It does not pay to be rude and cut off a flow of information or burn a bridge.

"So is this girl the reason you haven't been to see me? She keep you satisfied like I do?" Gina asked coyly. She didn't mean anything by it-it was her business to talk this way-but it nearly sent me over the edge to hear the implication about Katja, especially given what had happened to her.

"She's a friend, and she's only sixteen. Don't you dare speak about her that way again," I ground out, not quite keeping the anger and menace out of my voice. Gina recoiled.

"Sorry, Spot. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm glad you found your friend," she said, all pretense of flirting gone. It's rare that the girls at Ms. Cara's drop the hustle, and I didn't remember ever seeing it from Gina, but her instant change reminded me that she'd always been good to me and I needed to treat her like the friend she was instead of the prostitute she needed to be.

"Didn't mean to snap at you, Gina. It's just been a rough time for her, losing her folks and all," I said. She smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad she has someone like you to take care of her;" she said, and I nodded in acknowledgement.

"You should know that before I came here, I went through a lot. If she wants to talk, woman to woman, I'm available," she said. I was surprised. That was good of her. To be honest, I had never really considered where Gina had come from. She was two years older than me and had been working at Ms. Cara's since before my first visit, so I had never really thought about her life outside of that place.

"Thanks, Gina. I'll keep it in mind. Good of you to offer," I said, giving her a genuine smile as I hefted my papes back onto my shoulder. "See you around."


	58. Katja27--Read

"So I've been thinking about what Mr. Donovan said," Spot said over dinner that night. We were in the lounge of the lodging house. Most of the younger boys were at school, and the kitchens had served their dinner. Spot had brought up a tray for me and one for himself. Because he's the leader the Children's Aid people allow him to do that-maybe because they know he'll return and even wash the dishes. That's good, because we can't afford to eat out all the time, especially because there's another thing Spot does for his boys. He buys bread. There are plenty of places to scrounge food, and a group of nuns hands out breakfast many mornings, but there are days the nuns aren't there, and scrounging doesn't always work for all the boys. There are too many of them. So he buys loaves of bread. He, Red, Greasefoot, and Lefty always have bread on them, and the boys know they can grab some so they don't have to steal. Spot says he uses jar money, but I suspect the older boys contribute some days. Those four are the top sellers most days.

"I had an idea, but I don't know if you'll like it," Spot was saying, and I snapped back to the present, taking in a forkfull of green beans. I looked at him a bit worriedly as he continued, "It occurred to me that Santorelli needs victims who are easy targets. That means girls who probably don't have families," Spot said, and I nodded. That made sense.

"So he probably chooses girls who live at the Working Girls Home," I supplied, and I thought I saw where this was headed.

"Yeah," Spot said. "And I was thinking we can get Goldie to do some digging for us." I bit my lip. What was he going to tell Goldie? I barely knew her! She was nice enough, to be sure, but I didn't actually know her very well. "I won't say anything specific, Cat," Spot said, and I nodded. "But Goldie isn't dumb. She might be able to put two and two together. She's discreet. She wouldn't say anything, even if she knew, and certainly not if she only suspects. But I thought you should know."

"I guess people will find out eventually," I said, trying not to cringe at the thought.

"Remember what I said? Nobody will think any less of you," he answered, catching my eye and looking steadily at me in that way that makes me feel better.

"You always seem to know things. I've trusted you on everything else, so I guess I should trust you on this," I said, giving him a small smile. He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.

"You're incredible," he said, grinning at me.

"Will I have to talk to Goldie?" I asked.

"Nah, I can do it. I know her, and I can phrase it in a way that keeps you mostly out of it," he said. I smiled at that.

"I've been thinking about this, too," I said, and he looked a bit surprised at that. "I wonder if we should talk to Muriel. She's the other cleaning girl, and she's about my age. She's really shy and quiet, and she always cleaned his office while he was in there. She lives with her uncle, I think, but she might still be good to talk to. But I don't know how to get in touch with her other than work."

Spot nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I'll track her down tomorrow," he said. "I don't want you anywhere near that place." I smiled at him gratefully.

"So what do I do?" I asked, feeling like he was doing all the work.

"You start thinking about life after all of this," he said. "And you save up your energy. It's going to be a long day with Mr. Donovan." He stood and began collecting dishes.

"Can I at least do that?" I asked, rising as well.

"Sorry, Darlin. There will still be a few ladies downstairs for awhile, so it has to be me," he said, and I sighed in frustration.

"I'll just be over there in the corner trying not to make any extra work for anyone," I grumbled, and he grinned.

"Sorry, Cat. Not your fault," he said again, taking the tray of dishes, giving me a wink, and heading down the stairs. I groaned and flopped into the overstuffed armchair.

"Katja?" a voice interrupted my pout, and I looked up to see Roller and Tyke, the new little boy who was maybe five years old. Roller had really taken the little one under his wing. It was cute to see the kid, who was seven now, being a role model to someone. I grinned at him. I loved that kid, and the new kid looked at me with awe.

"What can I do for you guys?" I asked, wondering why Tyke was so awestruck.

"Since you're back, can we finish the story we started before you left?" Roller asked, and I couldn't help it. My heart melted.

"I'd love that. Go get the book," I said, and as he scampered off, Tyke looked at me with wide eyes.

"Are you going to marry Spot?" he asked. I could feel my cheeks burn as I struggled for an answer to such an innocent question.

"What makes you think that, Tyke?" I managed to choke out.

"You're the girl and he's the boy. That's how it works," he said knowingly, and I recovered a bit.

"We'll see," I said with a smile as Roller returned with the book. It wasn't long before I had another big group of young boys around me, listening as I read, and for the moment I was able to pretend that the previous six weeks hadn't happened.


	59. Spot27--Muriel

Okay, nightly check in, set the watch, and head over to the girls to chat with Goldie. I went through my mental checklist as I brought away our dishes. As I came up the stairs and back into the lounge, I saw the most lovely thing I could imagine. Cat was surrounded by a group of boys under ten, all listening in rapt attention as she read them a story. The scene reminded me so much of her first night here that it was almost as if the intervening six weeks hadn't happened. She looked so relaxed-like she had before all of this had happened. The way she had when I had fallen in lo-

"Spot, do you mind if I don't do watch tonight? I'm not feeling too hot and could use the rest," Pike interrupted my thoughts.

"Sure, Pike. Just let me know when you're recovered. You need tomorrow off? Ya got money in your jar?" I asked, studying him. He did look a bit pale.

"I'll skip morning, but I'll sell afternoons," he said. "I can afford it."

"Let me know if that changes," I said, and he nodded and headed upstairs.

I set the watch, then walked over to the group at Katja's feet. All the boys looked at me as I put a hand on her shoulder, and she finished the sentence, stopped, and looked up at me.

"I have to run some errands," I said to her, and she nodded. "Fifteen minutes, then bedtime." She grinned up at me, and I leaned down and gave her a quick kiss. She blushed as I looked at the boys. "If I hear you weren't listening, there'll be trouble," I said with as much menace as I could muster. They nodded, eyes wide, and I headed out to the girls' house to talk to Goldie.

When I returned, having taken the opportunity to do a bit of roaming and checking on Brooklyn-borough visibility has been low on my priority list lately-I found things quiet at the lodging house. The young kids were in bed, though there was still a lot of giggling in the bunkroom, and the older boys were studying. Katja was in her room, reading on her bed. I knocked as I stepped through the open adjoining door.

"The boys give you any trouble?" I asked, sitting down beside her and brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"They were so cute," she said, rolling onto her side and smiling up at me. "You were gone for awhile. I thought you were just going to see Goldie."

"I took some time to check up on Brooklyn," I said. "I also have to do some stuff in the morning, so I won't see you. Meet me at Rays for lunch at 11? We can go to Mr. Donovan's from there." She nodded. "You turning in?"

"In a bit. You?"

"I was going to read for a bit as well. You want the door open?" I asked, nodding to the connecting door. I've noticed Katja has seemed a bit claustrophobic since coming back, but nights are still a bit cold for the window to be open.

"Yes, please," she replied, turning back to her book.

"G'night, Cat," I said, turning her face to mine for a goodnight kiss. She smiled up at me as I left the room. I slept well that night.

The next morning I headed out early. I headed straight for that factory, hoping to intercept the morning staff as they arrived. I stayed out of sight until I spotted my quarry-Katja's friend Muriel. Glancing up the street to make sure there was no sign of Santorelli, I grabbed her arm as she walked toward the door and pulled her into a nearby alley. She nearly screamed in surprise but bit back the sound when she recognized me.

"Spot Conlon," she gasped, fear evident in her eyes.

"Relax, doll, I'm not going to do anything to you" I drawled, using my cane to tip my hat back just a bit. I didn't want her scared of me, but a healthy respect was probably still a good thing. She just looked back at me.

"I found Katja," I said, and she seemed to shrink a bit.

"Is she okay?" Muriel whispered, and I thought I detected genuine concern there.

"She will be," I said evasively, and Muriel looked stricken. "But we need your help. How well do you know that boss of yours?"

"Ant-Mr. Santorelli?" she gasped, but I caught the slip. "What do you need to know about him? I don't know much," she said. My lie detector was instantly up, and some instinct told me that Katja had been right. This girl had suffered something similar.

"He ever lay a hand on you?" I asked, trying my best not to look intimidating.

"What makes you say that?" she said, and I could hear the tremor in her voice. That would be a yes.

"You don't have to go in there," I said, gesturing to the factory entrance.

"I don't have any other options. I can't lose my job. And he said-" she stopped, fear filling her face again. But this time, the fear wasn't directed at me.

"You have someone at home to take care of you?" I asked, sensing her desperation.

"Not really," she whispered, dropping her eyes in the same way Katja always did. My heart went out to her.

"Look, kid. Katja and I want to go after that bastard. We need people who can testify. In exchange, we can provide you with a safe place to stay and all the support you need. She really needs you right now. And you need to be out of there. It isn't safe," I said. Muriel looked up at me at that.

"Where could I go? My uncle will throw me out if I don't bring home rent money. And even if he doesn't, Antonio knows where I live and will find me. He'll come after me," she said, tearing up. I put my hand on her chin and made her look up at me.

"Let him try," I said, and I think the menace in my voice was evident. "He'll regret crossing Spot Conlon."

The poor girl started shaking and crying at that. Damn. I hate when girls cry. I put an arm gently around her shoulders. "I can send someone with you to get your things right now and get you somewhere safe if you want. Even if you don't testify," I said. "You want that?" She nodded into my chest. I led her back out of the alley and waved over Trug, who usually sold in this area and had been standing by.

"This is Muriel," I said, keeping my eyes peeled for trouble along the street. "Take her to her home and help her gather her things. Then take her over to Duane Street," I said.

Trug nodded. "You got it, boss," he said.

"I'll sell your papes for you," I said, taking his stack and passing the still trembling girl off to him. He nodded his thanks as I turned to Muriel. "This is Trug. He'll help ya with anything you need and take you over to Manhattan. I'll be by this afternoon sometime to check in with you. Trug'll keep you safe until I come." She nodded, and they headed off quickly. I turned and began selling-I had a lot of papes to unload today, and I needed to get started if I wanted them sold by the time I met Katja for lunch.


	60. Katja28--Clarification

The meeting with Mr. Donovan wasn't so bad at first. He asked a lot of questions, and he listened intently while I answered. Spot once again held my hand the whole time. Gradually the questions became more and more specific, and I started getting more emotional. And then the question came that nearly undid me.

"Why didn't you make him stop?"

What could I say to that? Spot said sex was no big deal? I didn't want to let Spot down by compromising my hiding place? I looked down at the carpet and bit my lower lip.

"Thomas?" Mr. Donovan said, and I glanced up at Spot. "Would you leave us for a few minutes?"

Spot's eyes blazed for a moment, but Mr. Donovan held his gaze steadily. Spot looked over at me, then squeezed my hand.

"I'll be just outside the door," he said before shooting Mr. Donovan a look, stepping out, and closing the door gently.

"Ms. Fischer, why don't you take a moment to collect your thoughts. When you're ready perhaps you can tell me why you did not ask Mr. Santorelli to stop."

I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. Then I plunged into a garbled explanation of everything I had been thinking. I told him about New Year's and the conversation with Spot, about Papa and the expectation that I would do as I was told, and about being afraid of the police. With some gentle questioning, Mr. Donovan got the clarification he seemed to be seeking.

"Ms. Fischer, we will have to talk about how to best clarify this in court. I will need some time to think about all you have told me today. For now, I think it would be best if I met with Thomas alone next session. I also think it would be wise for the two of you to clarify your own relationship before I meet with you again. I will meet with Thomas next Tuesday and with both of you again next Thursday if that suits you?" he asked. I looked at the carpet and nodded.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I mumbled as I stood. I knew I should look up and try to shake the man's hand, but I was just too emotional. In fact, I was lucky I hadn't cried yet.

"You're welcome. Now, if you could send Thomas in for just a moment before you go, that would be helpful," he said, rising. I nodded again and darted out of the room into the large foyer where Spot sat.

"He wants to see you," I said, gesturing to the door behind me as Spot stood. He walked past me to the office, stopping to raise my chin so I met his gaze. He looked at me intently, and, apparently satisfied at what he saw, nodded curtly to himself and proceeded into Mr. Donovan's office. After several minutes he returned, his face inscrutable, and we left, walking in silence for some minutes.

"So Mr. Donovan thinks you and I should talk," he said after awhile. We were headed back toward the bridge. "He thinks you're unclear on where we stand."

"Aren't we?" I asked.

"I'm not. I know exactly where I stand. The only question is what you feel," he said, shrugging.

"You do?" I asked. Wait, he wasn't confused? He knew? Was he going to clue me in?

"Sure. I've known for months that I love you. I know exactly what I want, but I also know better than to demand it of you, especially given everything that's happened. You are young, innocent, and vulnerable. A guy with serious intentions doesn't take advantage of that. I can wait as long as it takes, and I don't want any declarations of any kind from you until you are settled and sure of yourself. I love you enough to wait for you."

He just said that so casually and matter-of-factly that I didn't quite catch the meaning of what he'd said right away.

"You—?"

"Yeah." He shrugged again, the corner of his mouth turned up in a shadow of a smirk.

"But why? I mean, I'm not tough or strong or—" I babbled, but once again he cut me off.

"You're good. That's why. You never judge, and you only see the kindness and goodness of other people. You look right past the unrefined edges and see people for their hearts. And even when those hearts are black as coal, you still manage to ask why and to want to fix it. You are the most innocent, sweet, kind person I have ever met. That's why I fell in love with you a year ago. You're also stronger than you give yourself credit for. Every time I worry that something else will break you, you come through on the other side a bit wiser and not a bit more cynical. That's a different kind of toughness, Cat."

I thought about that a moment, but I'm not sure I understood it.

"You like me because I'm nice?" I asked.

"No. I love you because you don't know how to be anything else."

"Why would anyone not want to be nice?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"And there it is. You don't even recognize your own goodness as such. You just assume we're all as good as you, and that's why I'm in love with you."

"I—wait, what?" I felt stupid. My brain was not keeping up with everything he was saying, because at that moment it latched onto the words I had now heard four times. "You love me?" I blurted out.

Spot laughed, genuinely amused.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "And for now, we're seeing how things go. You've never had a boyfriend, and in all honesty I've never had a real girlfriend. For now we can just leave it at that and not rush into anything more."

Boyfriend? He wanted to be my boyfriend? He loved me? I didn't really know what to say to all of that, and Spot seemed to sense it because he leaned in and kissed me. Then he smirked. "That work for you?" he asked, and I just stared at him and nodded dumbly. He smirked again and grabbed my hand, leading me to the bridge and ending perhaps the most one-sided conversation we had ever had.


	61. Spot28--Declaration

I was on edge. The meeting with Mr. Donovan had been going well, but Katja was starting to get flustered.

"Why didn't you make him stop?" Mr. Donovan asked kindly, and she fell silent, staring at the carpet. I could see she was fighting tears. Every instinct screamed at me to get her out of there, to protect her from more pain, but my rational mind knew that we had to see this through.

"Thomas? Would you leave us for a few minutes?" Mr. Donovan said. Oh, not a chance in hell. I looked at him, but he just met my eyes and said nothing. I took a breath and realized he was right. Katja needed to feel free to talk, and right now she was embarrassed. He wouldn't upset her. I squeezed her hand and turned to go.

"I'll be right outside," I said. I know she knew that, but saying it was my way of reminding her that I wasn't abandoning her. I stepped outside into the hallway and immediately began to pace. Mrs. Hall looked at me sympathetically, but I couldn't look at her right now. I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. Eventually I resigned myself to sitting down in the foyer, my head down, my hands folded behind my neck. It seemed like an eternity before Katja came out. I shot out of my chair to her. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she wasn't crying now.

"He wants to see you," she croaked. I lifted her chin to look at her. She seemed flustered, but no worse for wear. She just needed a bit of time to gather herself. Obviously Mr. Donovan had been kind to her. I hadnt really expected anything different, but I never liked seeing her like this. I turned in to Mr. Donovan, shutting the door behind me.

"Thomas," he said, gesturing for me to sit. I didn't really want to sit, but I did it anyway, fighting to keep my body from fidgeting. "Tell me about the history between you and this girl," he said.

"I sold to her and her pop for years. About two years ago we became friends. Her pop was like a father to me. He died about two months ago," I said.

"Are you more than just friends?" he asked. I wasn't sure what these questions had to do with anything, and it was only the months of trust I had built with this man that persuaded me to answer him.

"Sort of," I said. "We went on a few dates before all of this."

"Your ambiguous relationship may be hindering this process," he said, and I was surprised. What did it matter? "It's obvious you care a great deal for the girl. But perhaps you two should talk and clarify a few things. She seems unsure of where you two stand." I nodded. That made sense.

"Yes, sir," I said, my mind already planning out what I could say to her without frightening her.

"Now then. Any progress on finding additional witnesses?" he asked, and I snapped back to the moment.

"Yes, sir. I haven't even told her yet, but I think I may have someone. I don't have a lot of details, but I am going to see her this afternoon. I have some feelers out in other directions, too." He nodded at my response.

"Perhaps on Tuesday you and I could meet without Ms. Fischer to discuss logistics. I told her she should come back on Thursday."

"Yes, sir," I said, rising. He came over and shook my hand, and we parted.

Katja and I headed toward the bridge. She was quiet, and I gave her a bit of space to make sure she was okay before I said anything.

"So Mr. Donovan thinks you and I should talk. He thinks you're unclear on where we stand," I said gently, gauging her reaction carefully as I spoke.

"Aren't we?" she asked. Good. She was up for the conversation.

"I'm not. I know exactly where I stand. The only question is what you feel," I shrugged. I've known for some time. I have only ever suspected what Katja felt, though I do pride myself on reading people well.

"You do?" she asked. Didn't she know? Well, I was going to make sure she did.

"Sure. I've known for months that I love you. I know exactly what I want, but I also know better than to demand it of you, especially given everything that's happened. You are young, innocent, and vulnerable. A guy with serious intentions doesn't take advantage of that. I can wait as long as it takes, and I don't want any declarations of any kind from you until you are settled and sure of yourself. I love you enough to wait for you." They say it's hard to make a declaration of love, but this was surprisingly easy. Maybe all of those people who say it don't love the way I do. I don't know. I do know that I meant every word and that I didn't want to pressure her into saying it back if she didn't feel the same way.

"You—?"

"Yeah," I interrupted, smirking a bit at her bewilderment.

"But why? I mean, I'm not tough or strong or—" she said. She really had no idea how wonderful she was, did she? I had thought about this answer for a long time, too, so it came easily. I just interrupted her train of questions.

"You're good. That's why. You never judge, and you only see the kindness and goodness of other people. You look right past the unrefined edges and see people for their hearts. And even when those hearts are black as coal, you still manage to ask why and to want to fix it. You are the most innocent, sweet, kind person I have ever met. That's why I fell in love with you a year ago. You're also stronger than you give yourself credit for. Every time I worry that something else will break you, you come through on the other side a bit wiser and not a bit more cynical. That's a different kind of toughness, Cat."

I meant that. She isn't tough-except about being unfailingly good. She has every right to be bitter, and she isn't. She's seen so much ugly in life, especially these last few weeks, but she insists that people are basically good. That's a tough dedication to a belief.

"You like me because I'm nice?" she asked, her green eyes wide and adorable in their innocent expression.

"No. I love you because you don't know how to be anything else," I said, placing extra emphasis on the word. It didn't seem to have penetrated yet.

"Why would anyone not want to be nice?" she asked. And that was it. That was what I loved. That unshakeable belief that all people just wanted the same kindness and sweetness that she did. There was no cynicism in her-the capacity for it simply didn't exist in her mind.

"And there it is. You don't even recognize your own goodness as such. You just assume we're all as good as you, and that's why I'm in love with you."

"I—wait, what?" she babbled, and I could see that moment when the words took hold. There was a pause. "You love me?" she said, disbelief and surprise evident in her voice. I couldn't help laughing, even as I forced myself to speak what I had been thinking back in Mr. Donovan's office.

"Yeah," I answered. "And for now, we're seeing how things go. You've never had a boyfriend, and in all honesty I've never had a real girlfriend. For now we can just leave it at that and not rush into anything more." I didn't want to pressure her into thinking she felt things she didn't actually feel. She looked up at me, a bit of awe in her face. Well, that wouldn't do. She was at a loss for words, but I figured a declaration of love didn't really need words, now did it? I did what was only natural. I kissed her.

"That work for you?" I asked, and she nodded, the ghost of a smile on her face. Taking her hand, I walked beside my girl toward the Brooklyn Bridge.


	62. Spot28b--Muriel Again

AN: Sorry, everyone. I got more busy than I thought I would. Besides, it's always good to put a piece aside for awhile and let it sit, right? I haven't forgotten or given up on this!

"I have to run an errand in Manhattan," I said as we reached the bridge. Katja looked up at me curiously.

"What's that?" she asked.

"I'll tell you after I get back. I'm not sure yet," I said, and she smiled.

"That makes no sense," she said, and I laughed. I knew she was right, but I didn't want to upset her by talking about Muriel until I had a bit more of a sense of the girl's story. She put her arms around me tentatively, and I smiled inwardly at her shyness. She's my girl now; she's allowed to put her arms around me. In fact, I'll have to encourage it. But not now. I needed to go to Manhattan.

"I promise I'll tell ya when I'm done," I said, putting my arms loosely around her and kissing the top of her head.

"Do you need me to do anything in the meantime?" she asked, and I thought for a moment.

"If you want to sell, feel free. If you don't, you could grab a pape from one of the guys and see about a job. But only if you want one," I said. It wasn't that I thought she had to work. I could sell enough for both of us. It was that I thought it would help her confidence and keep her from getting bored. "Stick close to the guys, though, alright?"

"I can do that," she said thoughtfully.

"I'll see you late this afternoon," I said, pulling myself reluctantly from her embrace, giving her another kiss on the top of the head, and turning to head across the bridge.

"Tell the guys I said hi," she called after me, and I waved in acknowledgement as I trotted across the bridge and towards Manhattan.

I hadn't gone far when I ran into Specs. He's a bit of a quiet fellow, but he's always been observant.

"Spot," he said, surprise in his voice. I know he'd be afraid to run into me in Brooklyn, but I was on his turf, and he knows I respect that.

"Trug and the girl make it to your lodging house?" I asked, knowing he'd have at least some knowledge of that situation.

"Yeah. We didn't know what it was about, but Trug just said you'd be by later to take care of things," he said. I nodded.

"Good. See ya around," I said, waving him on his way and hopping onto a passing wagon. I reached Duane Street in good time, and as I entered I saw Kloppman, the man who ran the place, throw me a look.

"Heya, Kloppman," I said, aware that he knew me and wanted an explanation about the girl upstairs. "I need to talk to da goil. Den I'll fill you in." He nodded, waving me by, and I headed upstairs. There in the bunkroom was Trug, resting on one of the bunks. He wasn't asleep, though, and when he heard me enter he leaped to his feet. Seeing me, he relaxed.

"Want me to go?" he asked softly, waving his hand to indicate Muriel sitting by the window, staring out vacantly. I nodded, and he left quietly. I knew he wouldn't go far.

"Muriel," I said quietly, and the girl turned to me. She shrank back a bit, and I noticed in her hand she was clutching a bag as if it were a lifeline. Probably her possessions, though I did notice another, larger bag nearby-probably carried here by Trug.

"Why am I here, Mr. Conlon?" she asked, looking up at me fearfully. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair.

"First off, you can call me Spot," I said. "And you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you, and when I give that order, nobody's going to hurt you. That's why I had Trug with you all day." I looked at her, and she nodded, and while still uncertain, I could see her features relax just a bit. Clearly Trug had been good to her and built up some trust.

"Okay, Spot," she said hesitantly.

"Good. Now, I want to know if Santorelli did to you what I suspect he did," I said, and she immediately blanched.

"Look," I said in a softer tone, realizing that bluntness was too much for her right now. "I have a pretty good idea of what happened, but I'm the only one who does. Nobody knows, okay?" She nodded, and I continued. "I'm asking because I want to understand what happened with Katja when she disappeared."

"Did he-do things-" she nearly choked on the words- "to her, too?" Her voice was a whisper, but in the stillness of the empty bunkroom I heard her clearly.

"Yeah," I said, trying to keep my voice steady even though just saying it out loud still brought feelings of guilt. Muriel started to cry.

"I didn't think he-" and she trailed off. I forced myself to stay silent, knowing the dam was about to break and not wanting to force anything. She gathered herself.

"It started right before Katja came to work our shift," she said. "He started the job a few weeks before, and almost the first day he told me that I could earn a little extra. He told me he could arrange a raise or he could have me fired. All I had to do was come into his office every day during my shift and-" she trailed off. "Then Katja came, and I could see he wanted to do the same to her. But she always talked about her Papa and how close they were, so he never really did anything. It was like that for months." Muriel took a breath and gathered herself.

"Then he got word he was going to be transferred to morning shift. He made me transfer with him, even though it meant I couldn't go to school anymore. He was talking about what he wanted to do with Katja when word came that her pop had died. A few days later, he had me meet you at the door. He threatened to hurt me if I didn't do what he said. And the next day, he had me call the cops and tell them she was at work. I didn't know why, but then they came and raided the place, and she ran. I didn't know what was going on." She was sobbing by now, and I had no idea what to do other than to hand her a handkerchief, which she took gratefully. After a few minutes, she resumed speaking, interrupted by the hiccups that had started.

"He told me to tell you she had run away but not to tell you anything else," she said. I winced as I remembered yelling at her on the day Katja had disappeared. "He told me what he would do to me if . . . . The next day he waited until he heard newsies outside, then sent me to break into your lodging house. Told me to get some of Katja's things. I snuck in through the fire escape." I stiffened, remembering the mess in Katja's room just after she had disappeared and the missing Twain novel. "After that, he left me alone most days. But every few days he would remind me of what he would do if I ever said anything. I didn't know what happened to Katja. I thought maybe he killed her."

Damn. She was really afraid, and for all I knew, rightfully so. We had to keep her hidden until this was over. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, not bothering to try to fill the silence that had fallen. I wondered if we were doing the right thing, going through a legal process like this. Was Santorelli really that dangerous? Maybe we should . . . I pushed the thought aside for the moment when Muriel spoke again.

"Is Katja . . . " she didn't finish the question, but I could hear genuine concern in her voice.

"She'll be okay. She got away, and she's in a safe place," I said. "What I'm worried about is whether anyone will be looking for you."

"I doubt it, but I don't know," she said. "My uncle won't. He's not really my uncle, you see. He just took me in for the rent money. But Mr. Santorelli will know-"

My heart went out to this lonely girl. Newsie life is tough, but at least we have each other. She didn't seem to have anyone.

"Let me worry about him," I interrupted, and she nodded hesitantly. "For now, I'm going to make arrangements for you to stay here in Manhattan. The newsies here are a good bunch, and they can keep you safe. I think it's best if you stay away from Brooklyn for awhile."

She stared at me, her eyes wide. I could see her fear as she looked around the room, counting the bunks.

"Hey," I said firmly, and she looked at me, that trace of fear back in her expression. "They're good guys. None of them will lay a hand on you. You're under their protection-and mine. We'll put you up at the Working Girls' Home, but the boys will have to be the ones to introduce you and take you over. You'll probably spend a night or two here first."

"Is that a good idea?" she asked. I shrugged.

"I know these guys. You'll be in excellent hands, and they and the girls can probably even help you find a job. C'mon, I'll introduce you to Kloppman and a few of the boys."

I took her downstairs, where we saw Trug talking with Kloppman.

"Kloppman, dis here's Muriel," I said, gesturing to the girl. "It ain't safe for her to be in Brooklyn, and I need her where the boys can keep an eye on her. Any way you could bend the rules about a girl for a night or two until she goes to da goils' house?" Kloppman looked at the red-rimmed eyes and haunted expression on the face of the girl behind me, and I could see him soften. I placed two dimes on the counter. "That should pay her up for a bit," I said, knowing it would was more than she'd need. I slid another dollar towards him, but he slid it right back at me.

"It's important?" the old man asked.

"Very, or I wouldn't ask," I replied. He knew I was right, and he nodded. "I'm going to take her to meet da fellas. She'll be back tonight with them. Any problems and you send someone to me." He nodded.

"It won't put the boys in danger?" he asked, and I shook my head.

"Nah. Nothin' illegal, either. Just a personal problem," I said, and he nodded. I gestured for the girl to follow, and I noticed she was still clutching the bag.

"You want Trug to put that upstairs with your other stuff?" I asked and she hesitated. Trug, who'd been sitting nearby while I talked to Kloppman, moved in and held out his hand. She slowly placed the bag in his hand, and he instantly disappeared upstairs.

"How do you know he won't go through it?" she asked, and I could her the tremor in her voice.

"Because he's not that kind of guy," I replied. "And he knows I'll kill him if he even looks inside."

She shrank a bit at the words, but I think she knew I wasn't being literal. Maybe. I led her outside, sending Trug back to Brooklyn with the coins I had earned for him, and we set off in search of Dutchy. He and I hit it off last summer, and he's big and intimidating but with a soft, open expression. He's also soft spoken and, from what the girls say, good looking, so I figured he'd help put Muriel at ease. Or maybe Snoddy would do-he has some of those qualities. Anyway, as we walked it was my turn to talk.

"Katja and I have spoken to a lawyer. We want to have Santorelli arrested," I said. "It would be great if you could testify. You don't have to decide right now, though." She nodded, her eyes darting around the crowded street even as she took in what I was saying.

"Would I have to see him?" she asked, and I shrugged.

"I don't know. Probably in the courtroom. But I'd be there, and the police, and Katja," I replied.

"I'll think about it," she whispered, her eyes still moving up and down the street. The girl was like a wounded animal, skittish and frightened.

"I also want your permission to let her know you're here," I added.

Muriel looked up at me at that. She nodded hesitantly. "Okay," she whispered, and I nodded as we continued on. I handed her three dollars to cover food and lodging for the first few days until she could find a job and let her know to send word if she needed more. It wasn't long before we noticed Snoddy and Snipeshooter selling the afternoon edition. Snoddy spotted me first and walked over hesitantly. He, like Specs earlier, knew there would be a reason for my being on their turf, and as such he could greet me as a friend, even if I did obviously make him a bit nervous.

"Spot," Snoddy said, spitting in his hand and extending it.

"Snoddy," I said, returning the gesture and shaking his hand. I noticed Muriel wrinkle her nose a bit and grinned, my mind flashing back briefly to the conversation I'd had with Katja on New Years' Eve. Girls didn't realize we barely used any spit when we did this. Snipeshooter walked up at that moment, and I punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Shooter, go find Cowboy. Meet us at Tibby's," I said, and he nodded, handing Snoddy his papes and bolting through the crowd. The kid isn't small anymore, but he still has a knack for getting through the crowd. I turned to Snoddy.

"This here's Muriel," I said, gesturing to the girl cowering beside me. "She's a friend of mine, and she needs your help. Muriel, this is Snoddy," I said. Ordinarily I would have to give a death glare to someone as a warning to play nice, but I didn't bother here-Snoddy is the kindest, most unassuming newsboy I have ever met.

"Hi," he said, wiping his hand on his trousers before extending it to Muriel. She shook it tentatively, and I noticed that while she didn't look down the way Katja always did when she was shy, she didn't quite meet Snoddy's gaze, either. We headed over toward Tibby's, Snoddy ahead and Muriel cowering beside me.

"He ain't gonna bite ya," I whispered, giving her a big, conspiratorial wink. She smiled slightly at that, looking at his back.

We reached Tibby's just before Snipeshooter and Jack, grabbing a booth in the back. I stood and spit shook with Jack as the boys entered, then gestured for them to have a seat and join us.

"Boys, this here's Muriel," I said, and their eyes flew over to her. She ducked her head, but I could see an attempt at a smile on her face. Brave girl. "She's not safe in Brooklyn right now, so I was wonderin' if you could take her in for a few weeks. I've already cleared it with Kloppman for her to stay with youse for a night or two until you can get her settled at the goils' home," I said. Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. No wonder. This was an unusual request.

"Why with us?" he asked.

"I need her safe. We'll be corresponding in the next few weeks, and I need to be able to find her," I said. Muriel nodded, and I could see her confidence growing. She was starting to trust me.

"So you want us to keep an eye on her," Jack said.

"You could try gettin' to know her," I added, raising an eyebrow, and Jack looked a bit abashed.

"Sorry," he muttered in her direction. "Spot's right. You're good staying with us for tonight?"

"I guess," she said.

"Just make sure she's safe," I said, giving Jack that icy look that says I mean business. He threw up his hands defensively.

"Hey, no problem. We'll look out for her," he said, and I grinned.

"I got a long walk back tonight," I said, rising from my seat. Turning to Muriel, I said, "You good with these bums?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling slightly at Snoddy. My instinct had been correct. I tossed her a dime.

"Enjoy your meal. See ya in a few days," I said, and without looking back, I walked out. I had only gone about three steps when Kid Blink appeared, out of breath, in front of me.

"Spot," he gasped, and I could tell he'd come running, wanting to talk to me. He's not as afraid of me as some of the others-at least not since the strike.

"Blink," I replied.

"You have Katja back? She's okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said belligerently, giving him a glare that made it clear that he was to stay away.

"She with you now?" Blink wasn't dumb, I'll give him that. He could see the possessive gleam in my eye, as I'd intended.

"What's it to you?" I asked. Blink put up his hands and backed up a step.

"Just wanted to make sure she's okay," he said, and I softened fractionally. I can understand someone caring about Katja-after all, I considered myself lucky she'd chosen to be with me.

"She's fine," I snapped. "She sends her regards to everyone." Blink nodded.

"Just don't hurt her," Blink said, and I could tell he was genuinely worried. I realized my reputation was a concern for him, and my whole demeanor changed. I could at least reassure him that she was more than just a conquest.

"I won't," I said vehemently and with feeling, knowing he would recognize that I was serious about her. "See ya around, Blink." I spun on my heel and headed back towards home without a single glance backward.


	63. Katja29--Angry

I spent the early afternoon selling. I only bought ten papes, but it was a fun challenge, and it felt good to have earned four extra cents after paying the six for the papes. I wouldn't have done even that well without Jimmy attracting the attention of passers by and giving me an opening to talk to people. I stuck near our old bench, somehow drawn to that area. Greasefoot was there in Spot's absence. He likes to roam more than the others, and he is known for filling in when boys are out. His presence was comforting, even if I did get the feeling he was laughing inwardly at my pitiful efforts.

I also spent some time thinking about a job. Who would hire me? The thought of working in an enclosed space frightened me, and I worried about what kind of boss I would have. What if I met another person like Santorelli? What sort of job could I do? What woud I like? I wondered if I could go back to school. The thought was a strange one. I wasn't the same person anymore-no longer a girl in a smock and a big bow. But somehow the desire to go back was still there. As if by going back I could turn back time. I sighed.

"Penny for your thoughts? Or for a pape?" Red's voice interrupted me. I grinned up at him, instantly feeling better.

"Couldn't sell your wares?" I said.

"Ha. Sold out half hour ago. Unless there are extra editions," he replied. "So no distracting from the question. What's on your mind?" Dang, and I'd been hoping it would work.

"Just thinking about jobs. And school," I said vaguely, and he nodded.

"You'll find something. Something you love, whether it's going back to school or finding a job. Something where the people are nice. Not everyone is like Santorelli," he said, sensing what was worrying me.

"How do you know that? He always seemed like a nice guy. How do I figure out the good places?" I asked, voicing a fear I hadnt consciously recognized before now.

"Trust your instincts. And if you aren't sure, trust Spot's instincts. He never trusted that creep," Red replied. I nodded uncomfortably.

"And you? Job prospects?" I asked, remembering that he was looking for a job on a ship and wanting desperately to turn the conversation away from Santorelli.

"There's a ship that just said they'd hire me on their next trip. I'll be leaving in late June," he answered.

"Wow! That's great!" I said sincerely. Then a thought hit me. "But I'll really miss you," I added. "And Roller will miss you even more."

"Yeah, I know. I'll miss youse as well," he said. "But you've got Spot. And Roller does, too. And someday Greasefoot unless that prig Snide wants to get uppity. But I think Greasefoot can take him, just like I knew Spot could take Rut. Spot was always tough. And meaner, too."

"I've never thought of Spot as mean," I said, maybe a bit defensive in my reply.

"He ain't. Not unless he has to be. But it's in there. He can be a bastard," Red said absently, then looked at me. "At least, he can be when he's not around you. But you bring out the best in him. Always have," he said.

"Is he really mean when I'm not around?" I asked, now a bit worried. Did I really know Spot Conlon?

"Not mean-spirited. He was never that. But he could be cocky and selfish. Years growing up on the streets will do that to a person. But you're changing him. He's not even those things anymore, even when you aren't around."

I thought about that long after Red had gone down to the schoolroom to check on the younger newsies. I even took a blanket up on the roof. Did I really want a mean person to be my first boyfriend? But the Spot I knew was loving, caring, and respectful. He looked out for his boys and took care of them just like he did for me. That didn't sound like a mean person. No, Red had to be wrong.

My thought about Spot led me back to my dilemma about a job. I stared up at the clouds that had moved in as the sun got lower, trying to come up with an answer before the impending rain. I also thought about Ingrid. I should really go and see her-I hadn't seen her since before-well, everything. I worried about that. The wind picked up a bit, and I was just thinking that the night would be chilly when a figure appeared on the roof. I smiled as I recognized Spot's swagger.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, sitting beside me on the blanket without waiting for my response.

I smiled at him and said, "Even if I did, it appears I'm too late. Looks like I'm stuck with you."

"That hurt!" Spot cried, clutching his hands to his chest before smirking down at me. "Good thing I know you didn't mean it and that you're actually honored to have me up here with you."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. "You and your ego," I said, but I didn't get any further before his mouth silenced mine with a kiss. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy that?

"I've been thinking about Ingrid," I said when we parted. "I haven't seen her since Papa . . . " I trailed off, not wanting to think about that day. I missed him so much. "I should probably let her know where I am and that I'm okay. I think it might even be good to talk to her. But I don't know. I wouldn't know what to say."

"We've been keeping her updated. She knows you're here and that you may need some time before you're ready to talk," Spot said.

"She knows?" I was shocked. And suddenly angry. Who were the newsboys to tell my friend what had happened to me? "What the heck, Spot? What if I didn't want her to know? It's my business, my friend, and my life! You had no right to tell her what happened to me!" I realized I was yelling at Spot.

"Cat, we didn't—" he said, moving away from me with his hands out in front of him in a defensive, placating gesture.

"No, Spot. You didn't think. Did it occur to you that I would want some of my life to be private? I lost my family and my home. Then I lost what that man took from me. I have no privacy, no prospects, and now you take my dignity? She's the only friend I've got! What if she doesn't want to see me anymore? Did you think about that?"

I stormed off the roof and into my room before he could respond, slamming the window shut a lot harder than I meant to. The glass shattered, but I ignored it, storming over to my bed. I grabbed a book and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall with a satisfying thud. Then I buried my face in my pillow. I was so angry I could barely think, but at the same time my head was swirling. How dare he?

I got up and paced back and forth a bit. The longer I did, the more my anger abated and my guilt and fear took over. I had really yelled at Spot. He had been so good to me-so kind. And he was supposed to be my boyfriend. That had only lasted a few hours. I had alienated the one person who cared about me, and about whom I cared more than anything. I had taken the generosity of Spot and the boys and had thrown it in their faces. Now I would need to move over to the girls' home, and the thought terrified me. I fell back onto my bed, replaying the events in my mind and kicking myself for the things I had said. I had no right to say anything negative to Spot, ever. I don't know how long I lay there, but I must have cried myself to sleep.

I awoke to a caress on my face. The touch had been light and probably not meant to wake me—just a strand of hair being brushed away from my face. I opened my eyes to see Spot moving towards my broken window, not realizing I was awake.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, and he whipped around and was back at my side in an instant.

"Cat! You should be sleeping," he said, but he didn't meet my gaze. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That window . . . " he trailed off, and I realized it was cold in here and that the rain I had anticipated was blowing into my room. I shivered a bit in spite of the blanket he had apparently placed over me.

"I'm sorry I broke it," I said, and I meant it. I knew that the lodging house didn't have a ton of money for replacing windows. I felt pretty guilty; the boys had gone out of their way to sneak me in here, and I was causing problems. "I'll get my stuff together tomorrow and head over to the girls' lodging house in Park Slope."

"The hell you will," growled Spot, and I flinched. He sounded pretty angry with me. Maybe he wanted to send me to the orphanage or worse, the Refuge? Given that I had yelled at him, then broken his lodging house, I could understand that. My eyes filled with tears as I realized how much trouble I had caused him, and I shrank back.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, staring at my blanket, my hands picking at it as I fought to keep the tears at bay.

"Katja, look at me," Spot said in that command voice. I knew after all I had done, I had to obey, even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. I bit my lower lip and looked at him, and he reached a hand to caress my face. "I love you. Nothing is going to change that."

After all of that? I stared at him in disbelief, not quite comprehending. He pulled me gently to him, and I leaned into his shoulder and started to cry. I didn't really know why I was crying; mostly I was just overwhelmed. Spot just caressed my back. Once I had settled a bit, he spoke.

"Cat, you aren't leaving. I need you here, where I can know you're safe. Where I can see you every day. I am not going to have you disappear on me again. I almost died the first time." He kissed the top of my head. "I love you so much. No silly fight or broken window will change that."

"I thought-" I said, then stopped. I didn't know what I had thought, but not that.

"I know. But I meant what I said this morning. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Darlin'. Even when we fight." He paused before adding, "But you should know that we didn't tell Ingrid anything. She's been asking about you every day since you disappeared. She and Ace have become pretty close. When you turned up, I told him to tell her that you had been through a lot and would be there when you were ready. That's all we told her. That's all anybody knows. None of the boys knows what happened to you."

He kissed the top of my head, then continued, "You have a lot of friends, you know. And none of them would judge you for what happened, least of all Ingrid. But whether or not you tell her or anyone else is still your choice, Cat. Personally I think it would be a good idea. It would be good for you to have another girl to talk to about everything, and she's a good friend to have. But that's your decision."

I nodded into his shoulder. "I should have heard you out," I murmured into him. "I should have known you wouldn't do anything wrong. I just got so angry. I don't know why. I have no right to ever be angry at you."

"You always have the right to your emotions, Cat. Always." He paused briefly, then smiled at a memory. "Most of the boys here don't remember when Mrs. Kirby was younger and ran the place. She used to spend time talking to us—almost like a mother. I remember once after I'd gotten into a fight with some kid about something stupid she pulled me aside and said, 'Spot, the issue is never the issue.' Whatever it was that got you so angry, it wasn't about me. You have a lot to be angry about, and when you thought I'd wronged you, it all came out at once. That's understandable. And you weren't wrong that I would have no right to tell Ingrid anything. You've had precious little control over your own life lately. I've been pretty controlling, haven't I? It's not surprising you got angry at me."

When had he gotten so wise? I wrapped my arms around his waist, and he tightened his arm around my shoulder. I was suddenly exhausted-and cold.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you all the same," I said. He leaned in and kissed me.

"And I'm sorry for mishandling things. I'm sorry for not giving you independence and for pressuring you to do things. I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you," he said, falling silent and resting his chin on my head. The rumble of thunder roused him. "C'mon, you can't stay in here" he said as he moved slowly to stand.

"Where are we going?" I asked, confused.

"Bring your blanket. We're sleeping in my room. It's too cold in here," he said matter of factly, pulling me to my feet. He draped my blanket over my shoulders, then pulled me through the dividing door to his bed. "Go to sleep," he said once I was settled, then turned back to close the door to keep the cool from my bedroom out. For some reason the enclosed space didn't bother me in this room.


	64. Spot29--Fight

Eager as I was to get back to Brooklyn, I couldn't make the trip much faster than I did. That left me with some time to myself, which I admit is a luxury. I thought about all Muriel had told me and how we wanted to proceed from there, but I also thought about my now-defined relationship with Katja. I had never had a real girlfriend before, but that didn't worry me. No, mostly I worried that our friendship would change. We hadn't even found equilibrium after all the events of the past months. I vowed to make it a priority to resume any banter, normal conversation, and routine that I could.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. When I returned to the Lodging House, I found Katja on the roof, lost in thought. I hoped she noticed that it was getting chilly and likely to rain. We were able to share a laugh at first, and I thought maybe my worries earlier on the bridge had been for nothing as the conversation shifted to Ingrid.

"We've been keeping her updated. She knows you're here and that you may need some time before you're ready to talk," I said somewhat absently, still thinking of my conversation with Muriel earlier.

"She knows?" Katja snapped, and she suddenly had my full attention. What was going on here? What did I do wrong?

"What the heck, Spot? What if I didn't want her to know? It's my business, my friend, and my life! You had no right to tell her what happened to me!" Katja was yelling at me now. Wait a minute. That's not fair-I haven't told a soul about anything-except Muriel, and even then I was vague. I certainly didn't tell Ingrid anything. But even so, why shouldn't Ingrid know?

"Cat, we didn't—" I started to say, backing away in the face of her verbal onslaught. My initial defensiveness gave way to anger as she continued yelling. This was completely uncalled for, and to be honest, I didn't appreciate being spoken to this way. If it had been anyone else, I probably would have punched them by now just for the tone.

"No, Spot. You didn't think. Did it occur to you that I would want some of my life to be private? I lost my family and my home. Then I lost what that man took from me. I have no privacy, no prospects, and now you take my dignity? She's the only friend I've got! What if she doesn't want to see me anymore? Did you think about that?"

Yeah, actually. I did. Which is why I didn't tell Ingrid anything. I opened my mouth to snap back at her, but she had already turned away and was climbing down the fire escape. I heard the slam of her window and the shattering of the pane. Damnit, be more careful! We can't afford those types of repairs! I slammed my fist down on the roof ledge in front of me, seething at the unfairness of the accusation and the abrupt way I had been treated.

It only took a minute of anger before my mind began to replay the conversation we'd just had. What had set her off? Okay, she thought I told Ingrid everything, and she didn't want Ingrid to know. While that was a big deal, her reaction was still way above any I had seen from her.

*Spot, the issue is never the issue.* Ms. Kirby's voice came unbidden to my head. Okay, this wasn't about Ingrid knowing. That makes sense since I was reasonably sure that she was going to tell Ingrid soon and had already written to Hazel. So what was the issue?

"Did it occur to you . . . . I wanted . . . my life . . . . You take . . . What if . . . " The words swirled in my head, and suddenly I realized. It was about control. She hadn't felt in control of her own life. Her life had been largely led by me after her father had died, and then she'd been under Santorelli's complete control for weeks. She'd been so thoroughly stripped of all aspects of her independence, losing control over her movement, her decisions, and even her own body during that time. Then I had come in, the great rescuer, and taken charge once more. She was still so dependent on everyone else for virtually everything. How could she possibly establish normalcy and regain her faith in people if she couldn't feel faith in herself?

I should have seen this. I am so used to taking charge, and Katja had seemed so helpless, that I might have been a bit to controlling. I needed to give her some space to find herself. Her anger had been the first palpable emotion other than fear that has broken through in the days since she's been back. Frankly, she had a right to be angry. It's to her credit that she's not more angry-at me, at that jerk, at the trolley driver who caused the accident . . . . No, this was just a misunderstanding on her part, and she vented her frustration at my controlling nature and at the circumstances in general through this issue. The realization caused my anger to abate and annoyance and self-recrimination to take its place.

I don't know how long I stood there, mulling all of this over and coming to these conclusions, but it was quite some time. It had grown dark, the wind had picked up a bit, and I felt the first drops of rain. I realized Katja had left her blanket up here in her anger. Grabbing it before it could get wet, I carried it down and past her shattered window into my own room. The window. Her room would be cold, and I had her blanket. Stepping back through the connecting door, I saw her huddled form asleep on her bed. She was shivering in her sleep, and I quickly covered her with the blanket. Looking down at her sleeping face, I was blown away by the strength of my feelings for her. I brushed some of the hair my actions had disturbed back from her cheek, then turned to see how I could rig the window so she wouldn't freeze.

"What are you doing?" came the tentative whisper from Katja's bed. I spun around to see her looking at me. I hadn't meant to wake her.

"Cat! You should be sleeping," I said, sitting down beside her. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That window . . . " I gestured toward the broken glass on the floor and the rain now slashing through the opening.

"I'm sorry I broke it," she said softly, sounding contrite. "I'll get my stuff together tomorrow and head over to the girls' lodging house in Park Slope."

What? Why would she go there? The thought of her leaving sent my insides into a minor panic. Did she really think I'd let her leave?

"The hell you will," I responded quickly. Oh, no way was she going anywhere. I saw her flinch and then shrink back. Nice going, hotshot. You are not only being controlling, but you have to snarl at her while you do it? That was totally unfair to Katja.

"I'm sorry," she said again, sounding so crestfallen and looking like she was on the verge of tears. It suddenly dawned on me-she was kicking herself out because she thought I wanted her out. All of her anger was about her insecurity, and that included insecurities about me and about us. A small part of me flared in annoyance. I had told her that I loved her-wasn't that enough? I crushed the annoyance quicky, reminding myself that she was both more of a novice at relationships than I was and, more importantly, had a lot more reason to be unsure. That quick mental note not only snuffed the annoyance that I felt, but it made me ache a bit for her. She really didn't understand how much I loved her or what that meant. Not surprising given the facsimile of love she had lived for almost six weeks recently. I needed to build her trust and help her understand. So I did what I always do when I need her to understand something.

"Katja, look at me," I said. To my surprise, she complied immediately, biting her lower lip in that fetching way. I ran my hand over her cheek, letting my fingertips brush into the hair at the base of her ear and letting my thumb run over her soft skin once more. "I love you. Nothing is going to change that."

She looked at me for a moment, and then the tears she had been holding back started to fall anyway. Damn. I hate it when girls cry, especially Katja. What had I said wrong? What did I need to say? I wracked my brain, rubbing her back absently as she cried into my shoulder. Gradually she quieted, and I decided to try again to reassure her.

"Cat, you aren't leaving," I said. "I need you here, where I can know you're safe. Where I can see you every day. I am not going to have you disappear on me again. I almost died the first time. I love you so much. No silly fight or broken window will change that."

"I thought-" she hiccuped, then paused. Yeah, Katja. I know you thought that a little fight would end our relationship, but you need to learn now that I meant forever.

"I know. But I meant what I said this morning. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Darlin'. Even when we fight," I said. I paused briefly for that to sink in, but I also decided to clarify the non-issue that had been the catalyst for the argument. We would both need to learn how to talk through a fight afterwards. Might as well start now. "But you should know that we didn't tell Ingrid anything. She's been asking about you every day since you disappeared. She and Ace have become pretty close. When you turned up, I told him to tell her that you had been through a lot and would be there when you were ready. That's all we told her. That's all anybody knows. None of the boys knows what happened to you. You have a lot of friends, you know. And none of them would judge you for what happened, least of all Ingrid. But whether or not you tell her or anyone else is still your choice, Cat. Personally I think it would be a good idea. It would be good for you to have another girl to talk to about everything, and she's a good friend to have. But that's your decision."

"I should have heard you out," she said softly. "I should have known you wouldn't do anything wrong. I just got so angry. I don't know why. I have no right to ever be angry at you."

Well, that's no good. Yeah, Cat, you should have heard me out, but no right to be angry? Wouldn't do anything wrong? If we are going to have the future together that I am planning, this wouldn't do. I know there will be fights in our future, and many of them will be justified when I screw up. Some of them will be her fault. And some, like this one, will simply be the result of overemotion, misunderstanding, and well intentioned mistakes. But to say she has no right ever to be angry? I realized the depth of her insecurity. We'd have a lot of work to do, and we may as well start now.

"You always have the right to your emotions, Cat. Always," I said before sharing a few of the insights I'd had up on the roof earlier. She cuddled into me as I spoke, and I tightened my arm around her, grateful for the fact that she was at least starting to feel secure enough to curl up with me. There's more work to be done, but I've got time.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you all the same," she said. This I could accept-a genuine apology for yelling. But I had my own apology to make, too. She had been right about control, and I wanted her to understand it.

"And I'm sorry for mishandling things. I'm sorry for not giving you independence and for pressuring you to do things. I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you," I said. Every fight should end in dual apologies. That was another piece of Ms. Kirby wisdom. None of us remembered her husband, who had died before we were born, but she remembered him with such fondness that it was obvious they had been a happy, loving couple. I was more than willing to take good advice from someone like her. Besides, in this case it was warranted. I really was sorry for the things I had said.

We sat there, my chin on her head, arms around one another, in comfortable silence for a few more moments, but the thunder brought me back to reality. It was cold in here-Katja was shivering slightly, and the rain was still blowing in through the broken window.

"C'mon, you can't stay in here" I said, pulling her to her feet.

"Where are we going?" she queried.

"Bring your blanket," I said, tucking it around her. "We're sleeping in my room. It's too cold in here." I ushered her into my room with its larger bed and made sure she was settled.

"Go to sleep," I said, and her eyes closed instantly. I moved to shut the connecting door, pausing briefly. I know she gets a bit claustrophobic. She was quiet, so I slipped through the door with an old towel and rigged up a makeshift cover for the window. Returning to my room, I pulled off my boots carefully, mindful of the glass I'd just stepped on, and slid into the bed beside a sleeping Katja. Yep, I could get used to that.


	65. Katja30--About Muriel

AN: Sorry, sorry! I have been much busier than I anticipated, and then I decided to reorganize some things and rewrite quite a bit. Oh, and add in a bit (hope you don't mind). Anyway, I haven't forgotten you all or our dear Katja. So here is a bit more, and I promise I am still writing! I am toying with a few different things, but as I decide I will post them so I don't get too tempted to ditch everything I've written! Anyway, thanks for your patience. Reviews motivate me. Enjoy!

I woke up to the sound of numerous newsies moving around the bunkroom. Spot was moving around his own room. I sat up in his bed. I was still in my dress from yesterday.

"Hi," I said shyly. It was one thing to spend the night in his bed hiding from police or after a trauma, but this was different. Especially now that we were a couple. At least, I felt it was, though to be honest I wouldn't have been able to say for sure if he did sleep in this bed-I'd fallen asleep before he came to bed and he was already up. I think he did, but anyway, it doesn't matter. It was just a bit weird is all.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, grinning at me as if he could read my thoughts. "We're off to sell. I was hoping we could meet for lunch at Riverfront?"

"Sure. Should I do anything this morning?" I asked, feeling a bit like a loose end being left here like this.

"Nah. Just rest, get some breakfast, whatever. Here's money in case you need it," he said, putting a dollar on the nightstand.

"When do I get a job?" I asked him, feeling badly about taking his money. He chuckled. "You in that much of a hurry to work?"

"I should work part time at least. I should pay my own way," I protested.

"I actually have some ideas for you when you're ready. For now, there's no rush. Just let me pay for you as long as you want. It won't make up for letting this all happen to you, but it's something."

"You don't need to—" I started to say.

"I want to," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. "I'll see you at eleven?"

"Sure," I said again. Spot leaned over, gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, and headed out with the boys.

I actually had some things I wanted to accomplish. I washed up quickly, then grabbed the dollar and my dog, and headed out. I arranged for the broken window to be fixed, paid the 75¢ for the repair, then grabbed a small croissant before heading back to the Lodging House. I locked Jimmy back in Spot's room while I cleaned up the shards of glass in my own room before the repairman arrived. After getting that taken care of, I spent some time cleaning my room, organizing my things, and even cleaning the small washroom I used before heading to Riverfront restaurant, a place I had seen but not been inside. It was a standard lunch cafe, though the crowd here was mostly dockworkers.

"Hey, babe," Spot said as I arrived there, Jimmy in tow. He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. The nickname caught me off guard, but I kind of liked it. It made me feel very adult, even if Papa would have said it was a bit crude. The kiss, on the other hand-my stomach still flipped every time Spot touched me. I figured it would become routine eventually-I don't think Mama felt that way about Papa when I was growing up-but for now, it still sent a thrill through me.

"Hi," I smiled at him as we sat down at a table in the back. I sat with my back to the wall. I felt better with something solid behind me and being able to survey the room.

"So I wanted to talk to you about my errand last night," Spot said as the waitress came over. I tried to avoid ordering, wanting to save that last bit of money to sell some newspapers for the afternoon. I needed to pay off that window, after all. Spot, however, had none of it and insisted I get some food. After ordering a small salad, I turned back to his earlier statement.

"What was in Manhattan?" I asked, and Spot hesitated before answering.

"Muriel," he said, and I nearly choked on the water I'd been drinking. What was Muriel doing in Manhattan, and why had Spot been to see her? Somehow I sensed that this had to do with Antonio. I could feel my entire body tighten, and a rush of memories threatened to overwhelm me.

"Cat," I heard Spot's voice cut through my rising emotions, and I felt his hand grab mine across the table. "Easy, Katja. Just breathe," he said, and I forced air into my lungs and willed my body to relax. After a few moments I was able to look back up at him, and he smiled at me. I noticed it didn't quite reach his eyes, though-those were filled with concern. I allowed the corners of my mouth to lift to reassure him.

"I'm okay," I said, though it may have come out in a bit of a croak. I took another deep breath, then continued, "So why is Muriel in Manhattan?"

"She's staying there because she is considering testifying against Santorelli," he said, and I felt my insides freeze. I remembered Mr. Donovan saying there were probably others, but I hadnt processed that reality. And Muriel of all people? Somehow the whole thing seemed unbelievable.

"Did he-" I couldn't finish the thought, but Spot seemed to know.

"Yeah," he said heavily. I nodded. Spot continued, "I had to tell her, Cat. She figured it out, but I had to confirm it." He looked at me nervously. Probably because of our fight last night. I nodded again. Of course. And if Antonio had done the same to her . . . . I felt sick to my stomach and suddenly ached for Muriel. She had harbored that secret and had showed up to work day after day . . .

"Is she alone?" I asked. Spot looked at me quizzically. "I mean, she has to be scared and upset. I just want to make sure she's not alone."

"Snoddy and some of the others are looking out for her," he said softly, looking at me with this weird expression.

"Should I talk to her?" I asked, more to myself than to Spot.

"If you want. It might help. But I'd give her a few days. She's pretty upset and scared. Let her settle in a bit. The boys will look out for her until then," he said. I nodded to myself, thinking about that.

"So why is she in Manhattan? I thought she lived with her uncle here in Brooklyn," I asked.

"She's hiding out, Cat. He threatened her if she told, and that uncle isn't someone who will help her. We figured it was safer for her to be over there. She can start a new life with new friends."

"And old memories," I muttered.

"She'll make new ones," he replied, looking at me intently. I didn't think he'd heard me. "So will you. And the old ones that are good? She'll keep those, just like we will. She's tough. She'll be okay." He paused before adding, "And so will you."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Katja, what is it that makes you you?" he asked, and I was taken aback. I had never really thought about that question.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "I guess I am German. I'm the daughter of a cabbie and a seamstress. I'm a fair cook, and I'm good with horses." I shrugged. That wasn't much of a description, now, was it? I'm pathetic. "I guess I'm pretty boring," I concluded.

"That's some interesting trivia about you, but it's not who you are, Katja," Spot said. Huh? Of course it is! What is it if not that?

"You are someone who puts the needs of others before anything else. You are so kind and considerate. I was worried about you, and your first concern was whether Muriel was alone. That's not just nice. It's astonishing, and it's uniquely you. You bring out the best in all of us-you have such high opinions of everyone you meet that you prompt them to want to live up to that. You have a capacity to love that is unparalleled. Children and animals sense that about you and respond to it. You never judge. None of those things has changed about you, even after everything that bastard did to you. You're still that person."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. I just waited in silence.

"You will always be you, Katja. He can't take that from you. Nobody can."

"You can," I said, startling even myself with my words. But I realized I meant it. He had the power to hurt me and change me like nobody else could.

"I won't," he said simply, and I knew that my utter faith in him, the faith that gave him so much power over me, was justified.

"I know," I said, and his face broke into a smile. We sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, and suddenly a thought came to me. I remembered what Red had said on the roof the other night, and the question burst forth before I could stop it. "Are you really mean sometimes?"

He looked at me like I had grown another head for just a moment. Then he smirked.

"Who said that?" he chuckled.

"Red said you were meaner than the other guy who wanted to be leader," I answered. A wolfish smile like I had rarely seen spread across his face. I didn't quite know what to think of that. In some ways it frightened me, but this was Spot. I just looked at him expectantly, trusting his answer.

"He would say that," he said enigmatically. When nothing further was forthcoming, I looked at him expectantly, and he smirked again.

"Mean is a matter of definition," he expained. "I think you have to be willing to make tough choices in my position, and I am ruthless when it comes to someone hurting me or my family. I am strict with them and tough on them. I don't fight if I don't have to, but if I have to I don't hold back. I do what I have to do, and I'm not above manipulating people and situations to get what I want or need for me or for my boys. If that makes me mean, then I guess I am mean. But I'm softer now than I was then. I'm much more aware of how others are feeling, and I try to respect that. You taught me that. I won't pretend not to be fierce and tough when I need to be, but I don't think I'm malicious. Does that make sense?"

I thought back to last summer when those three guys had attacked me or the spring before when someone had stolen from the lodging house, and I nodded. That made sense, and it fit with what I knew of Spot as a person.

"The boys all think you're mean, but they love you anyway. I guess they think tough and mean are the same thing," I answered.

"But you don't?"

"No. I think you are the most compassionate, giving person I know," I responded, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"I don't think anyone has used those words about me before," he muttered.

"Papa did," I replied. At that he looked into my eyes, startled.

"Your Pa was a special man," he said, his tone controlled but soft.

"I know. And he said the same about you. He thought of you like a son, you know," I told him. He smiled at that-one of those smiles that really reached the deepest part of his eyes-the kind I don't see often. That deepest part of him is hidden most of the time. I met his gaze for a moment, then impulsively leaned over the table and gave him a quick kiss. He grinned at me.

"You're cute," he said. I blushed and changed the subject.

"So what does it mean for us now that we know about Muriel?" I asked, ready to finish this subject and move on.

"It means it's a bit more than your word against his," Spot explained. "With two people saying he did such things, it's harder for a jury to believe he didn't. If there are others, that strengthens the case even more."

"I hope not. It's bad enough that he did those things to two of us," I said, and Spot gave me that weird look again.

"I hope you're right," he agreed, then added, "but we still need Muriel to testify, and she's a bit afraid to do that for now. I think we can convince her, but not yet. That's another reason you should wait before going to see her." I nodded.

"So when does Santorelli get arrested?" I asked, and Spot grimaced.

"Well, that's the thing. We need to file a police report. Then they should arrest him. You up for that today?"

"I guess," I shrugged, but as usual my eyes betrayed me as I looked at my plate.

"We can put it off if you want, Katja," Spot said, reaching across the table and taking my hand. "But I think we should just get it over with." I nodded.

"Okay," I said. "Let's try it." He squeezed my hand, prompted me to finish my meal, and resumed eating his own food. I picked a bit at the salad, but I didn't finish it. I was too worried about going into a station full of police officers.


	66. Spot30--Tell

I confess that I had been nervous about telling Katja about Muriel, especially given the nature of our fight last night. I had essentially lied to her when I told her that I hadnt told anyone about what had happened-I had told Muriel, after all. All things considered, though, the conversation at Riverfront went better than I'd anticipated. It didn't start well when she seemed to be going into one of her episodes, but she snapped out of it quickly and transitioned almost instantly into concern for the girl. Katja never ceases to amaze me. She'd have every right to resent Muriel or be bitter. After all, it was her inaction that allowed Katja to get hurt. I admit that a part of me was a bit resentful, even if I forced that part down yesterday. Trust Katja not to think that way, though. Her biggest concern was for Muriel's emotional state. She didn't even have time to be annoyed with me for the omission this morning.

"She can start a new life with new friends," I reassured her.

"And old memories," she muttered. Uh, oh. That's not good. I sensed this wasn't about Muriel anymore, but about her own memories. I couldn't imagine how frightening and ugly they were, and my heart ached for Katja. I remembered what Emma had said about needing time to heal. She had been so outwardly strong so far, but the memories would be with her forever. I could never erase them, no matter what I tried. But I could bury them beneath mountains of good, loving ones.

"She'll make new ones," I answered. "So will you. And the old ones that are good? She'll keep those, just like we will. She's tough. She'll be okay. And so will you." I don't know if I said it for her benefit or mine, but it helped to say it out loud-particularly as a future statement. There is plenty of room for time, healing, and unfortunately, suffering before it comes true.

"How can you be so sure?" Easy, Darling. You're still you. I explained that to her, but I'm not sure how much of that sunk in. It didn't matter. The point was that I was sure, and the more I spoke the more sure I became. I could be confident enough for both of us for now.

"You will always be you, Katja. He can't take that from you. Nobody can," I added.

"You can," she said. Damn. She did understand.

"I won't," I promised, and I knew she believed me even before she said it. When she asked me about being mean, I knew my innocent Katja was back. We chatted for a bit, but she managed to surprise me. I have to say that I am not easily surprised. I like to know what people are thinking, and Katja is usually an easy read. But every once in awhile, she gets me.

"No. I think you are the most compassionate, giving person I know," she was saying. Damn again. I was the one who was supposed to see through her, not the other way around. I don't think of myself as compassionate or giving, but I guess, now that I thought about it, she was right. I would do anything for my boys. Very few had ever noticed it-I liked it that way-and nobody had ever voiced it. It embarrassed me, and it's harder to do that than to surprise me!

"I don't think anyone has used those words about me before," I muttered.

"Papa did," she said, and that caught my attention. I knew Mr. Fischer had a gift for seeing people as they truly were. I could not think of a more special compliment than that, and for a moment I was overwhelmed with missing the almost-father I had had.

"Your Pa was a special man," I said.

"I know. And he said the same about you. He thought of you like a son, you know," she said.

It's funny. A week ago, I was dead inside, not knowing where Katja was. Now she was here, and her words made me feel more alive than I had ever feIl have been admired and respected and liked my whole life. But this was different. This was being loved, and there was only one person from whom I wanted love more than from Alfred. I smiled at her, and she impulsively kissed me. Come to think of it, was that the first time she initiated a kiss? It might be. That content feeling inside me grew, but I carefully schooled my features, preparing for the next thing. It wasn't long in coming as the conversation quickly led back to Muriel and our search for other victims.

"I hope not. It's bad enough that he did those things to two of us," she said. Oh. I hadn't looked at it from that perspective, hoping only to find someone to help my Katja, but she can't help but think of others. She was right, of course, though both my instincts and experiences with men like Santorelli told me there were more victims.

"I hope you're right," I said, and I realized that I meant it. Even if it did make our case harder . . .

"So when does Santorelli get arrested?" she said, and that's when we got to the heart of why I had asked her to lunch.

"Well, that's the thing. We need to file a police report. Then they should arrest him. You up for that today?"

"I guess," she said, but she was looking down. A sure sign of insecurity. Then again, I doubt one can ever feel ready for such a task. With a bit of handholding (literally-hey, she has wonderful hands, okay?) she agreed, and we finished our meal. Well, I finished mine. I noted with dismay that she hadnt really eaten much of the salad she had ordered. She was still was not eating right, and that had me worried. I was trying not to be a nag, but I also needed her to eat. It was a difficult line to walk. I pushed some, but left it alone after a bit. After last night I wanted her to trust me fully before we went to the police station. I knew that she was worried about that.

Sure enough, as we walked up to the station I felt her tense up beside me. We saw officers coming and going, and each one made her a touch nervous. As we approached the front door, I grabbed her hand and turned her to look at me.

"Hey," I said, taking advantage of the fact that she was looking me in the eye. "I know this is hard, but these guys are not here to arrest you or take you away. I'm right here, and the boys and I won't let them take you away. Neither will Mr. Donovan. We're here because, for the first time in my life at least, we're on the same side as them." She bit her lip, and I put my hand on her chin.

"Hey, think back to when we used to meet your Pa on the bench by the park. You weren't afraid of the bulls then. Why not?"

She looked startled for a moment, then thoughtful. "Papa said that the police were there to help us," she said, and I could tell she was replaying some conversation with her father. I saw her square her shoulders. "He said I should be nice to them because they have a difficult job."

"Yeah, and now we need them to do their job. But we can't do that unless they know what happened. Okay?"

"How are you so calm?" she wanted to know.

"I'm not. Street kids like me don't usually do to well with the bulls. But I'm here, and we can do this-together." We started walking toward the station when a thought struck me.

"Wait a minute, Katja," I said, and my serious voice caused her to halt and turn suddenly toward me, fear evident in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and I could hear the tremor in her voice.

"Nothing like that," I said. "But police reports are public record. That means if we file a report today, he'll be arrested-and the whole thing will be tomorrow's headline." She looked at me with some confusion, and I went on. "This will be the big front page headline story. That means every newsie will see it. They won't use your name or anything like that. But they will use his, and the boys will easily put two and two together. From the moment we file a report, every newsie will know what happened to you. You have to be prepared for that, and I don't know if you are."

I could see her processing that. Her nose wrinkled and I could tell she was deep in thought. Knowing Katja, she was running through a million what-ifs and playing scenarios out in her head. I waited patiently for several minutes, though I doubt she realized it was that long. I just watched her chew her bottom lip, then the inside of her cheek, her gaze distant, and her nose wrinkling and unwrinkling adorably. I tried not to admire the curve of her neck, her soft, fidgeting hands, or the wispy curl of hair behind her right ear that had escaped her bun. Finally her face cleared and she looked at me frankly. That meant she needed honest answers from me.

"You said before they won't judge me." I nodded, not saying anything, and she took another deep breath, nodded to herself, and continued. "And the headline will be good?"

"Yeah. Probably a lot of fancy words; won't need a lot of embellishing," I replied.

"So the boys would sell well-maybe a bit more than usual?" she asked.

"Yeah, probably. But not if you don't want them to sell or to use a different headline," I explained. I could taboo a story and had done so once before-when one of our older boys had been mistaken for a gang member and murdered just a few months after I had taken over. None of the boys had used the story to sell papes that day, and a few had refused to sell in defference to Slink. I could do the same here, though of course the boys would read the story.

"Well, if my story helps them make a bit more money, isn't that a great way to repay them?" she asked. I started at that. I hand't looked at it from that angle, but of course Katja would be thinking of the well being of the boys.

"If that's what you want," I said hesitantly. Did she really want the boys blaring her story out like that, even if her name wasn't attached?

"Yeah, it is. Besides, it might help Muriel, right? Or would it be bad?" she asked with such trust in my response and such naive innocence that I wanted to kiss her right there. But she had a point.

"Maybe we should wait a day. It would only be fair to give her a heads up," I said, the wheels turning. I could send Snap with a message to her-or maybe it would be better to go myself. Another thought occurred to me. "You'll want to give Ingrid a heads up," I added.

Katja bit her lip, nodding. "You're right," she said, and I could see the nervousness about that particular conversation.

"She'll understand. She's on your side, remember?" I reassured her, and she looked up at me and gave me a small smile.

"You're right. But it still makes me nervous. Mainly her folks, you know? They're so-well, German. You know, proper and whatnot."

"So tell just her. Let her tell her folks or not. You guys can decide that together. But all of this is still your decision."

"No, I want to do this for the boys," she said. "But they should know ahead of time." I nodded.

"Yeah, they should. Are you up to telling them?" I asked, fully aware of the answer. She looked at the ground and shook her head. "You want me to do it?" I asked, and she looked up at me. Her eyes were full of tears now. God, I hate that.

"Do I have to be there?" she asked.

"Only if you want to be," I replied.

"So I guess we're not doing this today," she said ruefully, looking up at the station entrance.

"Tell me when you're ready, and we'll come back," I answered.

We spent the rest of the day selling. She was really terrible, but it was adorable watching her try. She was too shy and too quiet to attract the attention of most passers-by. The only way people even noticed her was when her dog would catch their attention and lead them to her. I sold my normal afternoon stack of 150, though I worked a bit for it. She didn't know it, but I had asked a few of my regulars to buy from Katja that day so she could sell out her small stack. I also had to work for it a bit more because instead of being all business, I was slightly distracted by the dog and the banter I shared with its adorable owner.

After we finished we headed down to the docks. "So, you said you wanted to learn how to fight, right?" I asked, and Katja's face lit up.

"Yeah!" she said, her enthusiasm contagious.

"Well, there are a few rules to fighting that I'm gonna teach you first. The first is that, in a serious fight, cheating is allowed. If you are in a fight, it's probably because it's necessary. That means winning is necessary. So if you need to cheat to win, do it. This is especially true when your opponent is bigger than you are-in your case, that means always."

She nodded. I laughed.

"You're nodding now," I said. "But the reality is that you're going to have a hard time with that rule. You're too generous and too nice. The time will come when you can't be that nice. You have to mean it. But for now, let's work on all the ways you can win without cheating. We'll practice the actual cheating later."

She grinned. "Sounds good," she said. We spent the evening practicing with a slingshot. Katja is adorable, but coordination of this type is not her strength. At first it was downright scary being near her with the slingshot, and she nearly hit Silver in the leg. But after a few wild shots she got the hang of it, and while her aim wasn't very good yet, it was at least in the vicinity of the bottles we were using as targets. I put Legs on making her a slingshot of her own so she wouldn't have to keep mine. I felt a bit naked without it. But if it meant she had a shot at defending herself, she could have it. She would need to practice, but I could think of worse ways to spend a May evening.


	67. Katja31--Ingrid

I was nervous. Going to see Ingrid, that is. Ace had arranged for her to come over without her parents' knowledge. I knew this was a big step for her; she'd defied her parents about as often as I had-which was never! The Meyers were far stricter than my parents had ever been, though, so I appreciated her coming over. We met early the next morning in the little park at the end of the Brooklyn Bridge. It's really just a grove of trees, but it is close to the lodging house and not that far from were Ingrid lived. I hadn't eaten anything that morning, and my stomach was doing flips. I had insisted that the boys sell as normal, so Jimmy and I were alone on a bench in the park, waiting for Ace to bring Ingrid over.

"Katja!" I heard her familiar voice yelling my name. I looked up and saw Ingrid running toward me from the path to my right, and I stood up to greet her. She was smiling as she pulled up in front of me.

"Ace told me I wasn't allowed to give you a hug," she panted in German, her eyes glowing. "But I almost forgot. It's so good to see you!"

"You, too," I said, and I meant it. It was so good to hear her voice, see her smile, and even hear and speak my family's native tongue.

"So what happened? Where were you? Where are you staying now? What are you doing? How can I help? Why no hugs? Did something happen? How come the newsies knew where you were?" The questions tumbled from her mouth in one long stream with no pause even for a breath.

"It's a bit of a long and kind of tough story," I said. "To be honest, I'm nervous about telling you or anyone, but Spot said I could trust you, and I think he's right."

That stopped her in her tracks. She instantly sobered and motioned for us to sit on the bench. She looked at me quizzically, her expression inviting and patient. I took a deep breath and launched into my story.

"After Papa died, Spot found out that the police were going to send me to an orphanage and take my family's things," I said, hoping this would be a good place to start. "So he and the boys took me and all my things to the lodging house. Don't worry-I have my own room and everything. The boys have been very respectful. But that night the police came looking for me. I hid up on the roof, and the boys covered for me. At work the next day they came for me again. Antonio-my boss-sent me to his apartment to hide. Then he told me Spot wanted me to stay there in hiding. He kept me there for almost six weeks. I never left his apartment, and I had no idea the boys were looking for me."

"Not just the boys," Ingrid put in, and I looked up at her in surprise. "Mutti and Vati put a notice for information on your whereabouts in the paper about two weeks after your Papa died. We were looking for you, too. We haven't told them you've been found yet. Ace told me you were with the boys, but we decided Mutti and Vati wouldn't like that, so we haven't told them yet. They don't know that you're safe."

Wow. I hadn't thought of that-that our family's other friends would be looking for me. I thought back to the one or two times Santorelli hadn't brought me a paper. I had been so involved in my own problems that I had failed to consider how the past few months would have affected Mama and Papa's friends. How selfish I had been. I would have to fix that wrong in the coming days. I bit my lip. How could I do that if I could barely tell Ingrid this next part? Turning back to the present, I caught her question.

"So why did your boss want you in his apartment?" she asked.

Here it was. The moment of truth. I took a deep breath, looked at Ingrid, and dropped my eyes again. "Sex," I said, barely loud enough for her to hear me. I heard her gasp in reaction, so I knew she heard me. She was silent, so I screwed up my courage and continued. "I didnt want to or anything, but he sort of made me. After awhile I couldn't take it anymore, so I left. But he had tricked me into thinking I needed to hide out. I thought I had no safe place to go, so I ended up wandering around Manhattan. That was almost two weeks, until Spot found me last Sunday," I finished, still staring down at the dirt under the bench. The silence seemed almost eternal, but it must have only been a moment before Ingrid spoke.

"Katja, I don't even know what to say," she said. I didn't react because I was too busy fighting for control. It wasn't that saying the words was hard-I mean, it was, but it was much harder not knowing how Ingrid would react. I wanted to be ready for anything, and that level of steeling myself was, quite honestly, beyond me. It required every ounce of concentration I had to prepare for a potential reaction, so I couldn't look up at Ingrid. "I wish I had known. It seems stupid to say I'm sorry this happened, but I am. I don't know if there is anything I can do, but I hope you'll tell me if there is," she said.

Well, I hadn't expected such unconditional support. I have to say that for all my preparation to be rejected, I hadn't prepared to be supported. It took me off guard, and I started crying in spite of all my best intentions. I managed to look up at Ingrid, and I saw her eyes were tearing up.

"Thanks," I said. "Just not walking away is the best thing you could do." She looked horrified and affronted at the suggestion.

"Of course I wouldn't walk away. How could anybody?" she asked.

"But I was so stupid. I should have-" I started, but the weight of the sheer number of things I should have done stopped the words in my throat.

"But it doesn't matter what you should have done. Anyway, it's not like you could have known. You said he tricked you. So it isn't your fault, see?" she said. Funny, that's what Spot had said.

"Spot said you'd say that," I said, the corners of my mouth lifting. Maybe things would be okay.

We spent the morning wandering around the park with Jimmy, catching up on the last two months. Mostly that meant that Ingrid asked me lots of questions about the last few weeks, and I did my best to answer. I have to say that, while it was hard to talk about some of that stuff, it was also good. I know it helped, and she was not only understanding, but also insightful. She was able to restore some of my feeling of self-worth, and quite frankly, she made me laugh.

It turned out she was a bit shocked at my having known Emma and a few of the other girls from the New Years party she had not been allowed to attend, and I'm willing to bet her reaction was similar to what mine had been that night. We talked about how they might have ended up becoming working girls and their kindness toward me. We talked about school and all the people there I hadn't seen in so long. We talked about Papa and all that had happened since he had died. We talked about my time in Manhattan and living on the streets. And we talked about the newsies.

It turned out that the Meyers, while fine with Ingrid talking to newsies in general, had noticed her preference for Ace and had intervened. She had strict rules regarding curfew and the like that she had to follow now, and I could tell it was hard on her. She explained that she would still see Ace regularly in secret, but that she also wanted to be a good and respectful daughter. I could see that the deceit was tearing her apart. I didn't really have any advice for her, but I listened sympathetically. I couldn't imagine being told I was not allowed to see Spot at all.

"So tell me about what's going on with you and Spot," she finally said, switching gears back to me. I wasn't quite sure what to call it and had barely opened up my mouth to answer when Ace came trotting up.

"Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but it's nearly noon," he said. Ingrid grimaced.

"I told Mama that I was helping Mrs. Larsson clean today," she explained.

"She's an old friend of my ma's," Ace added, grinning impishly. I smiled as he continued, "She always said if I ever needed anything to let her know. I helped her out instead and she agreed to cover for us," he said. He handed Ingrid a number of coins, and I realized he had skipped selling to do this work, then given Ingrid his earnings. I put it on my mental list of funds to repay once I got a job.

"I have to go," Ingrid said, rising to her feet. "I'll see you soon?"

"Of course," I said, reaching over and giving her a quick hug. Somehow it's not scary that way. Sort of like it's not scary with Spot-as long as it's quick, not too tight, and I know it's coming. She smiled in surprise as I stepped back.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said as Ace grabbed her hand and fairly ran off with her. Jimmy and I headed back to the lodging house, and I have to admit I felt a bit bereft. But I grabbed Spot's slingshot and headed to the docks with Jimmy, ignoring my slight hunger almost out of habit. I pulled out the pebbles I had collected and lined up three bottles to practice.

I had been at it for several minutes and had yet to hit a bottle when Spot showed up.

"You're holding it too tightly," he said, smirking.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. Show off. But I did soften my hand a bit and try again. My next pebble hit the rail just below the bottles. Still a miss, but barely. Okay, then.

"How'd it go?" he asked. He was keeping his voice light, but I could hear the seriousness of this question.

"It was great. I didn't realize how much I had missed her," I said. He grinned.

"Told ya," he quipped.

"It was also good to speak German again," I said in German, knowing this would earn me a blank look.

"Darlin', Mr. Donovan has me studying Greek and Latin to get me into college, but your tongue still eludes me," he said. "That's not fair."

"I guess you'll just have to learn," I said in English. "In the meantime, allow me some satisfaction in being able to do something you can't." His rueful grin and shrug of defeat made me laugh.

"Since that went so well, how do you feel about heading over to Manhattan? We need to talk to Muriel sooner rather than later," he said. I shrugged. It wasn't like I had other plans, and given how well this morning had gone, I was feeling pretty good. Besides, I was itching to see her, to make sure she was okay.

"Sounds good," I said, and he nodded.

"I'll check in with Lefty, then we can go. Give me ten minutes. Maybe by then you will have hit one of those bottles," he said, smirking as I stuck my tongue out at him before turning back to my slingshot practice.


	68. Spot31--In the Loop

We walked across the bridge toward Manhattan. Man, this was my third time in a week headed over there. Was it really only six days since I had run across in the rain on nothing but a cryptic message from Boots and a lot of hope? It felt like longer. I glanced over at Katja beside me and her dog trotting contentedly at her feet. It had been a good week.

It seemed awfully soon to be seing Muriel again. I doubt she's had much of a chance to settle in over the course of the last 48 hours. Heck, it will take her that long to get to know the names of most of the boys, and she probably doesn't have a job yet. She may even still be at the boys' lodging house. But it couldn't be helped if we were all going to move forward. Maybe it could help her achieve the same sense of closure that I hoped Katja would find. We might-

Something was wrong. I have no idea what, but I sensed something wasn't quite right. I stopped in the middle of the bridge and swung around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I didn't see anything suspicious. But something was making me uneasy. It was a warm day that spoke of the heat of the summer to come, but I felt a chill. I looked down at Katja, who was looking up at me with frank curiosity. Then I noticed the dog. He was looking at me with an expression that telegraphed his unease, and the hair on his back was standing up. I know that dogs can feed off of our emotions, but in this case I didn't think so. I was pretty sure it was the other way around. I have spent years honing my senses so that I can pick up on things that are not quite right-and something about the dog's behavior had made me uneasy.

I promise I am not crazy. I could just tell that all was not right with the world. I could also tell that standing here wasn't going to fix anything. Katja was still looking at me, wondering why we had stopped in the middle of the bridge.

"Sorry, Cat. Just thought I heard something," I said, trying to put her at ease. But not myself. No, I stayed on high alert the rest of the way to our destination. That feeling never left me, and I am pretty sure that Jimmy noticed something, too. But no matter. By the time we reached the World building, the Manhattan boys were headed to pick up their afternoon papes. We found the boys waiting in the plaza for the circulation bell.

"Heya, Spot," Dutchy said, and I grinned at him.

"What's rollin'?" I asked, stepping forward toward him.

"Not much. What brings you to Manhattan?" he asked, and I explained that we were looking for Muriel.

"Ah, the Mouse. Ask Snoddy. They've been glued together ever since you brought her here. He's pretty protective of her," he said. I raised an eyebrow at that, and Dutchy faltered under my gaze. "I mean, he hasn't tried anything or anything like that. She trusts him, and he looks out for her is all. She sticks near him and he . . ." he broke off, trying not to say anything that would get his friend in trouble with me. I let him squirm even though I believed him. Hey, I have a reputation for a reason, you know.

"Where are they now?" I asked coolly, looking around the plaza for a sign of the duo.

"Probably on their way. They're usually here right as the bell-" As if on cue, the circulation bell rang and the gates to the office opened. As the boys filed up the ramp, I hung back, Katja mostly close behind me. I wondered at first why she stuck so close, but then I realized that she was simply staying in the shade my body provided. Haha! Cute. Anyway, it wasn't long before Snoddy walked up, Muriel close beside him. She saw me and stopped cold, her face paling. Well, that wasn't a promising start. Instantly Snoddy was on alert, looking for the source of her discomfort. Good boy. He saw me and tensed a bit, but he walked gamely forward all the same.

"Spot," he said warily.

"Snoddy," I said, spitting in my hand and offering it to him. He relaxed a bit and returned the gesture. I turned to the girl at his side.

"Muriel," I said.

"Hi," she said nervously.

"Relax, kid. Katja and I just wanted to run some things by you is all," I said, and she looked over my shoulder and spotted Katja for the first time.

"Katja," she said, her voice shaking.

"C'mon," I grabbed Snoddy's arm and walked him a few paces away, allowing the girls to talk.

"How is she?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the two as they shyly conversed.

"Nervous. And shy. But the boys like her. They call her Churchmouse. I think she's starting to trust a few of them, too. But she seems stuck to me like glue."

"You looking out for her?" I asked, a hint of menace in my voice. I have to hand it to Snoddy. He didn't flinch.

"You know I am," he said.

"She tell you anything?"

"Some. That her boss was abusing her and that he threatened her. That you brought her here for her safety and that she had nobody in Brooklyn. I know there's more to it, but that's what she told me. Nobody else knows, though."

I nodded. I was glad she had someone to trust, and Snoddy is a good guy. I wouldn't call him effeminate by any stretch, but he was the kind of guy who had read Pride and Prejudice. It wasn't surprising she would choose to trust him. He was also strong and a good fighter, so I guess she could do a lot worse in a protector and confidante.

The girls had overcome their initial shyness now and were conversing rapidly. Their voices were very low, but I could see the intensity on both faces and knew that Katja was explaining our reason for being here. Muriel blanched. Snoddy saw it, too.

"Mouse?" he called, moving forward. I put my cane out to block him as she turned back to hear what Katja was saying. They went back and forth for a few more minutes, and I could feel the tension in Snoddy.

"Look, I know you're worried about her, okay? But let them talk this out. It's important," I said, and he looked at me.

"She's just starting to settle in. I just don't want anything to upset her," he said.

"It's not up to you. Your job is to be there when she needs you. But she has to know about and then deal with this issue, and Katja's the best person to help her do that," I said. "And this one is time sensitive."

"I don't have to like it," he grumbled, but I could tell that he accepted that he had to let this conversation play out.

A few more minutes passed and most of the boys headed out to sell their afternoon papes. The plaza gradually emptied, and still the girls were talking. Finally, they came over.

"You think this is the best course?" Muriel asked me, and I nodded.

"I do. But you'd have to tell at least some of the guys here, and we wanted to give you that opportunity so you aren't caught off guard."

"Do I have to do anything?" she asked.

"Not yet," I answered. "And maybe not ever. We'll see. For now, though I think it would be best if you told Kloppman and Snoddy here, and maybe a few others."

"I can tell Snoddy, but I don't think I can tell anyone else," she said.

"You can have him do it," I said, and she nodded.

"What am I doing?" Snoddy asked, confused as he followed the cryptic-to-him conversation.

"Whatever the lady asks," I said.

"Well, sure, but can you be more specific?" Snoddy said, looking at Muriel.

"She needs you to inform a few people of some things. You two have some talking to do. Then you can help the lady spread the word as the two of you feel is necessary," I said. I turned to Muriel. "We're good? You don't need anything else from us? Boys are treating you well?"

"I'll be okay," she said, looking at Snoddy with complete trust. "They're good to me. You okay?" she added, turning to Katja.

"Fine," Katja said, looking at me. Oh boy. I hate when she looks at me like that-like I'm some sort of savior or something. "Thanks for everything."

"No. Thank you," Muriel responded, turning to Katja and clasping her hand.

"We'd better get going," I said to Katja, leaving Snoddy and Muriel to talk. Jimmy arose from the shade of the statue and trotted dutifully ahead toward Brooklyn and home.

Before we'd left I'd instructed Ace to make sure all the boys were back at a reasonable hour that night. I intended to make sure they were all in the loop tonight. That would give them a day to decide if they wanted to sell the paper running the story. I know Katja would encourage them to sell, and I intended to do the same. The headline would be good, and I was understating the situation when I told her it would be good selling. As we headed down the Manhattan streets towards the bridge, I told Katja what I had planned to discuss with the boys. We talked about how much they should know and about how they would react. We decided to tell them in groups by age and maturity-the youngest would get a softer explanation, while the older ones would get a frank and factual briefing.

As we got close to the lodging house, I could see her get increasingly nervous. She began fidgeting, and her eyes moved wildly around at the boys hanging out near the end of the bridge and playing stickball or marbles in the street in front of the lodging house.

"Hey," I said, grabbing her hand and turning her to face me. "It'll be okay."

"I know," she said. "And I haven't changed my mind or anything. I'm just nervous."

"Do you want me to postpone?"

"No. But is it okay if I go upstairs and stay on the roof until you're done?" I asked.

"Of course," I said, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. "But you should eat something first."

We grabbed some dinner from downstairs and ate in the lounge. She was picking at her food again. Eventually she gave up and headed upstairs. I followed, concerned about her lack of appetite.

"You didn't eat," I said.

"I didn't?" she seemed surprised.

"Cat, I know this is hard," I began, but she interrupted me.

"It is. But I'll be okay. I'll just go out on the roof or something," she said.

"You want the dog up there?" I asked.

"He can't climb the ladder."

"I could bring him up," I said. She laughed.

"Sure," she said, and I heaved the confused animal onto my shoulder. He stiffened, his legs sticking out at an awkward angle, as I squirmed out of the thankfully large window and began climbing the ladder to the roof. Katja was laughing behind me. I set the bewildered creature down, and he looked up at me, offended. Katja climbed up behind me, blanket over her shoulder, slingshot in her sash, and book in her hand. Jimmy went straight to her, clearly not happy with me. I chuckled.

"Let me know when you want me to come get him," I said, heading down the ladder with the sound of her laughter following me.

Once downstairs, I gathered most of the older boys, the ones in charge of the groups of younger boys. Even Goldie was there to represent the girls. Good. I would need their help to ensure the message was understood and communicated properly.

"What's up, Spot?" Flex asked, curiosity lining his face.

"You've been busy lately," Silver added. His voice wasn't accusing-just curious.

"We need to talk. I need your help to make sure all the guys know the deal," I said, knowing that I would have their attention without needing to look at each face. "First off, it's about Katja." I saw a few nods, but nobody interrupted me. They are pretty well trained. I took a breath and continued.

"When she disappeared, her boss took her back to his apartment." I held up a hand to stave off the inevitable question. "I know we staked it out and even searched it, but there were two apartments. He kept her pretty well hidden. It's obvious he had planned everything out and knew what he was doing." The murmer of surprise died quickly. They really do know when it's important to listen. "I'm sure you have already realized what that man did to Katja for the six weeks she was with him. She had a rough go, and she split. She wandered the streets of Manhattan for a few weeks. And if I know any of you, you're wondering how the creep is still breathing." There were nods of assent now. I figured as much.

"Without wanting to go into too many details, let's just say Katja and I are pursuing legal action. Not Newie Justice. Everybody got it?" I glared at the boys to make it clear that nobody was to exact their own vengeance. If I could restrain myself, so could everyone else, and for this to work legally, we had to do it right. I saw nods, if not acceptance, from everyone. Okay, we'd come back to that.

"She's obviously a bit fragile about this, but we're going to be filing a report tomorrow. That means on Monday it will be a big headline." I could see everyone tense up at that. They realized the issue. "Katja decided she would rather have you all know about the issue and have a great selling day. She wants you to sell. I agree with her and think it's a good idea. But it will be up to each of you." I could see nods of comprehension and looks of indecision on most faces.

"The important thing now is that we all move forward. Especially Katja. She wants you all to treat her the same. She's pretty nervous about that part. She probably won't want to talk about what happened, so no questions. I know it's a tall order, but you have all night to process everything."

"But she's safe now," Trug asked, and I could tell he was wondering about Muriel. Right now he was the only one who knew about her, so his question made sense.

"As far as I know, but it never hurts to be vigilant. And she's a young woman in Brooklyn, so there's always some risk," I said. The boys nodded.

"I need you to fend off the younger kids. See to your boys. Field any questions and direct them to me. Not to Katja. Got it?"

"So why not just get the guy?" asked Pike. Fair question.

"Believe me, I would love to personally rip him apart," I growled, and I could hear the sympathetic answering rumble from several throats. "But what do you know about jail?" Many of the boys nodded their understanding, but others looked at me blankly. "In jail they have their own internal justice. People who abuse children face that justice at the hands of the other criminals. For the duration of their time." I saw a light of approval in the eyes of many of the boys as they realized that this would be far worse than any soaking we could provide. "I don't want the younger boys to know that part, though. And there's one other reason." I could have heard a pin drop as the boys leaned in to hear what I had to say. "There is at least one other victim, probably more. This way means there won't be another victim. And it means justice for all the victims. There is no need to tell the youngers any of that either," I added the last bit in an "is that clear" voice. "All they need to know is that nobody touches the man without permission or direct and immediate threat.

"Any questions?" I asked, crossing my arms and giving the boys a few minutes to take in all I had said.

"Not for now," Silver said after a few moments of silence. "We just need to take some time to figure out what we's gonna say to our boys."

"Okay, then," I said. "Make sure they know-nobody touches him. Everyone stays clear. Send the youngest boys to me. I'll tell them. Then I'll take house tonight. Any volunteers for night watch? I don't want to make it an order tonight," I said. Brown, Greasefoot, Silver, and Pike quickly volunteered. Good boys.

"That's it, then. Have a good night," I said. Ace immediately sought me out. I knew what this was about and held up a hand to preempt his question.

"She told Ingrid this morning. It went well. Ingrid's parents don't know," I said, and Ace nodded, saying nothing as he turned to find his boys. I watched each of the older boys gather their kids. Some were taking the time to work through what they wanted to say-I saw Silver muttering to himself, rehearsing his script in his head. Trug came up to me as I was surveying the room.

"Was it Muriel? The other girl?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"She safe, too?"

"Should be. Snoddy knows, and they're telling most of the boys there tonight or tomorrow since it'll be in the papes. But only the ones who need to know."

"You went over there today?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"Yeah. Katja and I had to tell her," I said. He nodded.

"Manhattan boys gonna find out about Katja?" he asked, and I shrugged.

"Katja said it was okay, but I think only the boys who know about Muriel will be told-so probably only a select few."

"Okay, then. Let me know if anybody needs anything." Trug was a relatively quiet guy, and often too earnest. This time, though, I appreciated it.

"Thanks," I said sincerely. As he stepped away, Red moved over to join me. He'd been strangely quiet while I'd been talking earlier.

"I thought as much. About Katja, I mean," he murmured.

"Yeah, I could tell. You have a good sense for these things," I replied. He shrugged in acknowledgement.

"I also saw her panic the day she came back, remember? Nobody else saw that. Big clue, that."

I didn't say anything, but I did sigh slightly at the memory.

"I'll take house tonight. You should be with her," Red offered.

"I don't know if she wants me around," I said. Honestly, other than getting Jimmy off the roof, I didn't think she'd really want to see me. She seemed pretty content to be left alone with her thoughts earlier.

"Maybe not. But she should have the option. You shouldn't have to work tonight," he said.

"There'll be a lot of nights like tonight," I warned him.

"We'll cover those, too. You think these boys don't know what you do for us every day? You think they don't want to help? We're all a bit in love with her-always have been. Remember how we used to draw lots to come to her bench or to walk her dog? She's good for you, too. We like how happy she makes you. We're all ready to step in for you-and for her. Just thought you should know," he said.

Now how was I supposed to react to that without being soft? Luckily, Red seemed to anticipate that, too. "Anyway, take tonight off. Soak me tomorrow for usurpin' yer authority, but it's an order." I grinned at him at that.

"You have some nerve," I said, but my smirk took the threat out of my words.

"Yeah, I do. She's like a sister to me," he said. He clapped my back, then moved to gather his own boys.

A few minutes later most of the youngest boys were sitting grouped on the floor. I looked at their faces, looking at me with such faith and adoration. Mostly they were quiet, waiting for me to speak.

"Alright, guys, So you all remember when Katja was missing?" I asked. Serious little faces nodded.

"Yeah, you was lookin for her all the time," said Dash with an air of wisdom. I fought back a grin at his know-it-all tone and focused instead on what I had to say.

"Well, while she was missing a bad man did bad things to her," I said. "So the police are going to arrest the man."

"Did you save her?" asked Pip, his blond hair flopping into his eyes. He was a cocky kid, but still so young and innocent. He reminded me of me, actually.

"She saved herself. I just went and got her to bring her home," I explained. I didn't need them thinking Katja was helpless and that I was some hero when in fact I had been unable to find her and she had been forced to take care of herself.

"So did you get the bad guy?" asked Tyke. He was so young. Oh, if it were only so simple.

"That's why we're here. Tomorrow the police are going to get the guy. Then it will be in your papes. Katja wants you to sell lots of papes that day so everyone knows they got the guy."

"What if he gets away?" asked Tommy, sounding a bit nervous.

"Then I'll get him," I said firmly, and the boys smiled.

"Yeah. Spot can get anyone!" said Pip.

"So the bad man can't hurt Katja," put in Roller, sounding satisfied.

"Yeah," Dash added.

"Boys, Katja is very sad about what happened. She doesn't want you to talk about it except to sell the papes, okay? But she wanted all the boys to know."

Pip looked confused. "But how do we know if she's okay? Are we allowed to ask her about the bad man?"

"You can always ask her how she's doing, but I'm the only one who is going to ask her about the bad man," I explained. "If you have questions, talk to your group leader or to me, okay?"

"Okay," Dash said. "Can we go play now?"

Kids are great. They heard what was going on, they accepted it, and then they moved forward. I grinned at them all.

"Sure. As long as you've done your lessons," I said. A few of the boys looked guiltily up at me. I glared at them, and they scrambled to grab their school things from the shelves. The rest of them headed up or back outside to play. Tyke, however, came up to me. He seemed nervous. I didn't know Tyke or his story just yet. He had appeared just two days before Katja's return, so I hadnt had the chance to get to know him. I'd assigned him to Red's group. I made a mental note to check in with Red about the kid later. He looked like he wanted to ask me something, but he was afraid to speak.

"What's happening, Tyke?" I asked casually. He looked at me with big eyes.

"Are you going to marry Katja?" he asked. Well, that was unexpected.

"She's too young to get married," I deflected the question gently.

"My mommy said that after the bad man hurt her, nobody wanted to marry her," Tyke said. "But I hope you still want to marry Katja even though a bad man hurt her."

Hell, yes, I wanted to marry her. Nothing anyone did to her would ever change that. But all I said out loud was, "We'll see when she's older if she wants to." Tyke nodded sagely to himself.

"My mommy would have liked getting married," he said.

"I'm sure she was happy just to have you," I said. He smiled.

"That's what she said," he grinned.

"Go finish your lessons," I shooed him off.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Spot," he said, running off. Huh. Mr. Spot. I couldn't help but remember when I'd first met Katja and she'd called me that. I turned and headed out to the roof to my girl and her dog.


	69. Katja32--Dunking

Filing the report turned out to be a bit easier than I had anticipated. Spot and I headed to the station around the time the boys headed to the distribution center. I was nervous, but the trip to the doors the other day had helped me get past that initial feeling of fear. Once inside and seated, we met with a pleasant-looking older gentleman who took my report. Spot and I had run through pretty much everything we wanted to say on the roof last night, and I fixated on a spot on the man's desk as I talked.

"Well, miss," the officer said kindly, "I can say with confidence that we will be making an arrest later today. Since you already know Mr. Donovan, we'll work with him on the prosecution. He will be contacting you to proceed from this point."

"Thank you, officer," I managed to croak, and after shaking the man's hand, we departed.

"Hey, Cat, ya did great," Spot said as we walked toward the distribution office.

"Thanks," I said, smiling at the praise.

"You know, we never did talk about tomorrow," he said, and I stopped in my tracks.

"What about it?" I asked warily.

"Listening to you today, I realized I can't sell that headline tomorrow. Most of the boys will be selling, but it doesn't feel right for me," he explained.

I hadnt thought about it, but it made sense. Spot still blamed himself for what happened, and I think he just felt too close to it all.

"If that's what you think is best," I said. I trust his judgment. After a momentary pause, I asked, "So what will you do instead?"

"I was thinking we could do some sparring and fighting lessons, some more slingshot practice, things like that. We could both catch up on some reading, studying, maybe some sleep. Just spend the day together."

"Sounds like fun," I said honestly.

"But that means today I need to sell," he said, sounding apologetic. Well, I'd expected as much.

"No problem. I'm fine. Who knows, maybe I will grab a few papes and try selling again myself," I laughed as he grimaced.

"Spare us all," he said dramatically, placing his hands on his chest in horror.

"I could be good with practice," I said in mock defensiveness.

"Doll, I aint seen anyone who's a woise sella than you." The Brooklyn accent was in full effect. "As da leadah I have at tell ya dat ya can't sell and ya should find sometin else at do wit yer time."

"Go sell," I laughed, swatting him on the arm.

"See ya tonight for dinner," he said, handing me a dime and heading off.

I spent the remainder of the morning studying some of the lesson materials some of the boys had left out. I was still okay in literature, but I had fallen behind in mathematics and science since leaving school. I took an hour to read from a book by a man named Darwin, then headed to get some lunch. I bought a piece of bread and an apple. Jimmy and I walked over to a nearby bench, and I sat down to eat and watch the people of Brooklyn pass by. After a bit I became restless, and I decided to walk while I thought through some things.

Things were starting to settle. I had found a place I felt safe and comfortable. I had friends. Ingrid and I were going to be okay, and hopefully Muriel would do well in her new life. Antonio was going to be arrested today, and . . . .

I was so lost in thought that I didn't realize I had wandered over to the docks. A warning bark from Jimmy came a split second too late as I tripped on the rough wood and went sprawling. That wouldn't have been so bad if I had just fallen forward, but I didn't. I fell sideways—straight into the river!

The water was pretty cold, though hardly icy, and the combined shock of it and of my fall were enough to momentarily paralyze me. The fact that I couldn't swim certainly didn't help my situation. I surfaced, gasped for air, and saw a piling. I managed to grab on to the rough wood and hold on. That allowed me to keep my head above water and take stock of my situation.

Okay. So I wasn't really in danger of drowning, and while it was cold, it wasn't frigid by any means; I was in no immediate danger. However, I was a bit stuck. There was no way I could climb up the slick pole, especially in my heavy wet skirt. There was a ladder, but it was far enough away that I couldn't reach it without swimming, something I couldn't do. I could try calling for help—there were people on the docks, after all—but they were all spread far enough and the ambient noise was loud enough that my attempts went unnoticed. Only Jimmy was up above, barking madly. I called up to shush him, listening for anything that might help me. I couldn't see up very well without letting go of the piling, something I was not about to do.

Think, Katja. There has to be something. I wasn't getting out of here on my own. I was in no immediate danger, so I wasn't too scared—though admittedly perhaps a tad nervous. Mostly, though, I was annoyed at myself and starting to get cold. Hm; I had a ladder I couldn't reach. I had a voice to call for help but nobody to hear me. And I had a whining dog who could hear but not help me.

"Jimmy," I called, and he tried to look over the edge of the dock at me. "Go to Roller," I said, and he whined. I hoped he understood. "GO to ROLLER," I commanded, and he turned and trotted off, looked back at me, then headed off. I sincerely hoped he understood. It was an awfully big risk sending him away, but I had to try something. I knew he knew the command "go," and I think he knew Roller's name. I figured he would find him since he had gone with Roller selling the whole time I had been gone. Now I just had to wait.

It seemed like an eternity. The afternoon wore on, and still I clung to my piling. I tried calling out any time I thought somebody was on the dock above me, but my teeth were starting to chatter and I was getting tired. It was getting late, too. I was going to be late to dinner and Spot would be angry or worried. I fretted about this briefly, then decided there was nothing I could do about it other than think through what I would say in my apology. It seemed as good a way to pass the time as any. After what felt like hours, I heard a bark and the familiar voices of Red and Roller calling my name.

"Down here," I tried to call out, but by now my voice had no power. I heard another bark, and then I saw Red peeping over the edge of the dock several yards above me.

"Cat?" he called, then spotted me clinging to the piling.

"I can't swim. I can't get out," I called up to him, my voice raspy.

"Hang on. I'm coming," he said, and a moment later there was a splash nearby as he jumped in. He had stripped off his shirt and trousers the way the boys normally did to swim, and he moved up to me with sure strokes. "I'm going to grab you. Trust me and don't thrash, okay?" he said, and I nodded. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me away from the piling, swimming the fifteen yards to the ladder easily enough. I grabbed it gratefully, and I tried hauling myself up. I managed it with Red's help, but barely, collapsing onto the dock in a dripping, useless heap as Red hauled himself out. Roller and Jimmy were at my side in an instant.

"Are you alright?" Roller asked as Jimmy began licking the water off my arm.

"Fine," I said without opening my eyes. I was too tired to do anything but shiver.

"Go find Spot," Red said to Roller. "Bring him back to the lodging house."

"He's selling," I murmured. Roller turned and ran off.

"Cat, I need to get you back home. I'm going to pick you up, okay?"

I nodded, still keeping my eyes closed. The late afternoon sunshine wasn't enough to warm me up, but at least Red's body was warm as he lifted me. I was drifting off as he walked me the few blocks back to the lodging house, and I wasn't really aware of how he got the door open or got me upstairs. He laid me on my bed and covered me with a blanket.

"I'll be right back," he said, and at almost that same moment Spot and Roller burst into the room.

"What happened?" Spot growled.

"We found her in the water holding on to a piling," Red said. "Don't know how long she was in there, but she's shivering pretty bad."

"I'm fine," I croaked, but my chattering teeth might have given lie to my words.

"The hell you are," Spot said, turning to Red. "Go get changed, then fill every pot in the kitchen with hot water. Roller, you can help him. And go get one of the girls." I heard the two other boys leave.

"Cat, we need to get you out of those wet clothes. Can you do that? Sit up for me."

I did as he asked, and I tried unbuttoning my blouse. My fingers would not cooperate, so Spot did it for me. I blushed as he pulled my blouse open and off, leaving me in my soaked chemise. With his help pulled off the heavy skirt as well. While he worked, Spot asked me about how long I'd been in the water. I told him I'd fallen in after lunch, and he grimaced. He pulled the blanket around my shoulders, and I admit that it was already a bit warmer.

"Can you pull off the chemise?" he asked, and I nodded. Somehow I managed it, staying wrapped in the blanket. The corset was another matter, though. The blanket was rough against my bare skin, but it felt good to be rid of the cold clothing. I was still shivering badly, and I just wanted to sleep. I leaned against Spot heavily, but he wouldn't let me fall asleep.

"Sorry, Sweetheart, I need you to stay awake," he said, giving me a small shake. Roller appeared in the doorway.

"Spot?" he asked.

"Fill the tub with the hot water. We need to warm her up. Then heat up more water," he said. A few moments later I heard Red and Roller and even a few others who had come back after selling the afternoon edition carrying pots into the washroom. I heard a shuffling noise, and a moment later Spot was pulling me to my feet. I clutched the blanket around myself, but walking was beyond my strength at that moment. I tried, but my knees threatened to give out before Spot simply scooped me up and carried me into the washroom. The room was full of steam, and he set me down beside the small metal tub.

"Can you sit in here and soak? You need to get warm," he said.

"Yeah," I said.

"I'm sending Goldie in. She is going to keep you awake, okay? No sleeping," he commanded.

"Okay," I said as he left. I dropped the blanket as Goldie came in. climbing into the tub. It was almost too warm, but my shivering stopped.

"I'm supposed to make sure you stay awake," she said, and I looked at her, confused. "Pull off your drawers," she said, moving to help me remove my corset.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Climb in," she said, and I somehow got my limbs to cooperate. The water was almost too warm. After a few moments, though, my shivering lessened and my mind began to clear.

"What happened?" Goldie asked curiously.

I explained how I had fallen in and grabbed the piling and how I'd sent Jimmy for help. I think it took awhile because my mind was so garbled, but eventually and with some questions and promting from Goldie, I was able to get the sequence of events across.

"That's some dog you got," she said, and I smiled again.

"He's pretty amazing," I agreed.

"So how did you get out?" she asked, and I told her about Red.

"Man, you have every guy in Brooklyn looking out for you, don't you?" she asked, and I was surprised.

"Do I? I guess. I mean, Red and I have been friends for awhile. He just happened to be the one to find me. He wasn't exactly there looking out for me. He'd have jumped in for anybody. It wasn't even a big deal to him. Besides, I thought all you newsies looked out for each other," I said. She smiled.

"That's true. And you're one of us, even if you don't sell papes," she replied.

"Thanks. It's nice to feel like I belong somewhere and to have people looking out for me," I answered.

"And unlike most of us, you have Spot, too," she said, and I detected a sad tone to her voice.

"So do you," I said, surprised. Did she not know that Spot looked out for his own?

"Spot? He barely knows my name," she snorted, and I realized she had no idea how much Spot did for her and the others. That made me wonder. Did none of them know how much he cared? Didn't they know how much he gave up for them?

"He respects you," I said, and she shook her head. "He told me so last summer," I added. She looked up at that.

"He'd barely met me back then," she said.

"He said you were a hell of a poker player," I said, remembering the respect in his voice when he'd said it. I saw a soft smile forming on her lips.

"I didn't think he noticed," she said.

"He notices everything in Brooklyn," I responded. "Especially when it concerns his own."

"I didn't realize . . . . " she trailed off. A knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Got some more warm water," I heard Red's voice through the door. Goldie cracked it, took the pot, and came over to my back.

"Lean forward," she said, pouring the hot water into the tub. The bathwater had been cooling, so this helped tremendously. I wasn't quite warm yet, but I was getting there.

"Thanks," I said, looking at her as she put the pot aside.

"Sweetie, you should know that you've broken every female heart in Brooklyn," she said, and I looked at her in confusion. "Spot being taken," she added.

"Oh." I didn't really know what to say to that. I had honestly never thought about that.

"He's happy with you. You bring out the best in him," she said, seeing my confusion. "And that's good for everyone. Besides, there are plenty of other cute guys out there, right? Most of them not quite so arrogant."

I smiled at her. She really was nice.

"You have one in mind?" I asked.

"Nah. Not really. Keeping my eyes peeled, though," she responded, and I couldn't help but laugh at that, tired as I was. I sensed there was someone, but I was both too tired and too shy to push the issue.

"Thanks. For everything," I said, and I realized what I really meant was thanks for the friendship.

"Any time," she said, and I could tell she meant the same. "Now, let me get you some clothes." She slipped out, returning shortly with a nightgown. I put it on, exhaustion making my movements sluggish. I headed back across the hall, but when I entered my room, Spot intercepted me.

"Your bed's wet," he said, and I realized he was right. So was my blanket. Spot steered me over to his own room and sat me on his bed. "Drink this," he said, handing me a cup of hot tea. I took a few obedient swallows, then set the mug down and flopped backwards onto the bed, spent. Spot pulled on the blanket and tucked me into his bed. I was too tired to protest.

"I'll move back to mine when you come up," I mumbled, my eyes drooping.

"Sure you will," he chuckled before kissing the top of my head and exiting the room.


	70. Spot32--Wet

Oy. She was going to kill me. After all the serious drama, this of all things? Don't get me wrong. I know how serious this could be. We've lost guys to drowning in the river and to cold from exposure. But after surviving all she had, Katja had to go and suffer a dunking as well?

Roller and I had run back to the lodging house, and I found a dripping Red pulling a blanket over a semi-conscious Katja. Damn.

"What happened?" I asked, hoping Red could give me more information than Roller had.

"We found her in the water holding on to a piling," Red said. "Don't know how long she was in there, but she's shivering pretty bad." Okay, not much more, but enough.

"I'm fine," came a weak protest from Katja, who was indeed shivering violently. Her skin was almost blue with cold.

"The hell you are," I said, moving into action mode. I turned to Red, who was still wet. He wasn't cold yet, but I couldn't have him getting sick. "Go get changed, then fill every pot in the kitchen with hot water. Roller, you can help him. And go get one of the girls." I heard the two other boys leave.

"Cat, we need to get you out of those wet clothes. Can you do that? Sit up for me."

She sat up and started to unbotton her blouse, but her shaking fingers made the task beyond her ability. I took over. Believe it or not, there was absolutely nothing other than getting her warm that ran through my head at that moment. The impropriety of undressing her never occurred to me as I got the heavier, wetter clothes off and wrapped her back in the blanket. Where was that warm water?

"When did you fall in?" I asked, curious, but mostly trying to keep her talking.

"Just after lunch," she said. Damn. That was hours ago. No wonder she was showing signs of being too cold. "Can you pull off the chemise?" I asked. The more wet clothing she could shed, the better. She managed to pull off the camisole from under the blanket, and it joined the pile of wet clothing at my feet. The effort seemed to exhaust her, and she leaned against me, her eyes drifting shut.

"Sorry, Sweetheart, I need you to stay awake," he said, giving me a small shake. Roller appeared in the doorway.

"Spot?" he asked.

"Fill the tub with the hot water. We need to warm her up. Then heat up more water," I ordered. The upstairs washroom was great, but there was no hot water like there was in the main washroom. It was a problem I needed to address in the long term if Katja was to stay with us and one that was particularly difficult now. The boys that were around carted up pots of hot water, and I heard them filling the tub.

"Goldie's here," I heard Roller say, and I nodded to him. I pulled Katja to her feet. She swayed and was on the verge of falling, so I picked her up and carried her into the little washroom. That had me really worried. I have seen what extreme cold can do to people-hey, we're street kids, right?-and I realized she was dangerously cold if she was physically this impaired.

"Can you sit in here and soak? You need to get warm," I said, worried she would fall unconscious and drown.

"Yeah," she said. Her voice sounded a bit steadier than her feet. Okay. That was enough to let me feel okay leaving the room with

"I'm sending Goldie in. She is going to keep you awake, okay? No sleeping," I ordered.

"Okay," she murmured, and I left the room.

"Go in there and make sure she stays awake and gets warm," I said to Goldie, and she nodded, saying nothing as she entered the washroom."I didn't think he noticed," she said.

I headed over to get Katja's bed ready and realized that it was soaked-the sheet, the mattress, and probably the blanket that she'd been wrapped in that was on the washroom floor. I looked around the room for a moment, saw the connecting door, and decided to put her in my room for the night.

Red and Roller came back up, Red carrying a big pot of steaming water. Roller knocked on the washroom door, and they handed the pot through to Goldie.

"Roller, have one of the big boys put on some tea," I said, sending the boy away and leaving Red and me alone in the hallway.

"You okay?" I asked Red. I didn't need anyone getting sick on me now.

"Fine. I was only in for a few minutes. Less time than we usually spend swimming," he answered, and I nodded. Summer was nearly here. It had been a nice day, so a few minutes was nothing.

"So what happened?" I asked, wanting a bit more detail than what I'd gotten earlier.

"Roller came running over to me, saying that the dog had come up to him and was barking. I figured if the dog wasn't with Katja, that was bad. So we followed the dog to the pier and saw her clinging to a piling."

"She couldn't get out?" I asked, mildly surprised. There were tons of ladders.

"She can't swim," he explained. I was flabbergasted, but I really shouldn't have been. I mean, I make sure all the boys can swim-why hadn't I thought to ask Katja? It made sense. When would she have learned?

"So you jumped in?" I prompted.

"Yep. Just grabbed her and pulled her over to the ladder. She hauled herself out, but she was pretty much spent at that point. I carried her back here, and you got here about then," he filled in.

"Thanks, Red. I mean it. Thank you," I said. Who knows how bad this could have been without Red and Roller? We were interrupted that moment by Goldie, carrying Katja's wet clothes.

"Getting her clothes," Goldie murmured as she walked through, looking past me. She seemed a bit lost in thought, but I didn't want to distract her-Katja shouldn't be alone long. It was only moments before Goldie slipped back into the washroom. Roller came up with the tea at the same time. I moved to take it into Katja's room but realized that her bed was soaked. That wouldn't work. As the girls came out of the washroom, I guided Katja into my bed. After seeing her drink some tea and making sure she had adequate blankets, I moved to leave the room. I spotted the dog and motioned for him to join Katja on the bed-his body heat would only serve to keep her warm. She was already asleep and didn't stir as Jimmy curled up beside her. I smiled and headed downstairs. I nearly tripped over Roller, who was waiting for me on the stairs.

"Is Katja okay?" he asked.

"She is thanks to you," I said. "You were so smart to get Red and follow Jimmy. I'm really proud of you. You were a hero today." I meant it-the kid had come through big time.

"I'm supposed to take care of her, and she's supposed to take care of me," he explained. I grinned.

"You did a good job today," I said, nodding.

"Like you!" he said.

"Better."

"Red did better. He's the one who jumped in," Roller said, blushing.

"He did a good job, too," I acknowledged.

"Does that mean I don't have to do lessons today?" he asked, his expression hopeful. I nearly laughed aloud, but I controlled the urge and gave him a mock glare.

"Sister Margaret would get mad at me if you didn't have them done," I said. "Besides, you don't want to fall behind the other kids, do you?"

"No," he said, sighing. "But heroes shouldn't have to do lessons."

"Even heroes need to be smart," I said, controlling my laughter with difficulty. Sighing dramatically, Roller rose to his feet and headed into the lounge to gather his school books from the shelf in the corner. I followed him, spotting Goldie still in the lounge. I motioned her over.

"Thanks for your help today," I said. She looked surprised, then embarrassed. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up at me.

"You're welcome," she said, and I detected a note of something-contrition?-in her voice. "I should have gotten to know Katja sooner. She's a nice girl."

"Yes, she is," I said simply. After a moment I added, "I'm sure she'd love it if you and maybe some of the other girls were around more. I think she misses being around girls. You should stop by more often."

"Maybe we will," she said, that strange sound I couldn't place still in her voice. Hey, I am good at reading people, but sometimes girls still mystify me.

"While I have you here, I have a favor to ask," I said, and she looked at me with a bit of surprise again.

"Sure," she said.

"I'm not selling tomorrow's headline," I said, and Goldie nodded understandingly.

"I figured," she said simply.

"I do, however, want to read the pape." I handed her a penny. "Bring me one tomorrow? Maybe around 9?"

"No problem," she said. "See ya then."

"See ya tomorrow, Goldie. And thanks," I answered as she walked off.

That evening I checked in with the boys, letting them know that I would not be selling tomorrow and that Katja wanted them all to sell well. I took night watch around the neighborhood, returning to the lodging house fairly late. I climbed in Katja's recently repaired window and noted the still-wet bed. Guess I was bunking with Cat tonight. Exhausted, I removed my shoes and tumbled into the bed beside her, displacing the dog and feeling Katja's forehead to check her temperature. Satisfied that she was warm enough, I fell asleep almost instantly.


	71. Katja33--Spar

I awoke with the first hint of daylight, feeling something warm against my back. Spot. I was still in his bed, and he was curled up against me, sleeping. I stayed completely still, not wanting to disturb him. If there was one thing I had learned since meeting Spot, it was that newsies didn't get enough sleep, and Spot got less than the others. It seemed like only a moment later, though I know it must have been closer to a half hour, that he stirred. His arm slid around my waist, and he pulled me into his chest gently.

"Morning," he murmured into my hair.

"Morning," I answered. "Why didn't you send me back to my bed?"

"Still wet," he mumbled. "Besides, why pass up the chance to have a girl in my bed for the night?" I shivered as he nuzzled the back of my neck.

"Oh, I see," I teased gently, squirming a bit to keep his breath from tickling my neck. "You have a reputation to maintain, so you're taking advantage of me."

He smirked into my hair. I felt it and shivered again. "Sure am," he answered. "Not every girl gets to share a bed with Spot Conlon. You should feel honored."

"Wow, I didn't realize you had that much trouble finding girls," I fired back, turning to face him. He propped himself up on his elbow and smiled arrogantly.

"I have no problem finding girls," he told me, arching an eyebrow haughtily. "Just ones worthy enough."

I laughed at his arrogance. "Gosh, is there a limit to your ego?" I asked.

"It's just honesty," he answered, and then his playful smile softened and he tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear before leaning down. "I could get used to this," he breathed, and my own breath hitched. He moved his face along mine, bringing his lips from my ear down to my lips for a kiss. I had to agree with him; I could get used to this, too. It wasn't long before the kiss became more serious, and I felt his tongue requesting access to my mouth. I opened up to him, tightening my arms around his neck. This was a far cry from the few soft kisses we had shared so far. His hand tightened on my waist for an instant before he pulled himself back, breathing hard. I realized I was breathing hard, too—and trembling.

"I should get up," he whispered shakily, and he moved swiftly up and over to the small dresser. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing as I heard him move around the room. I heard the other newsies moving around and realized it was still quite early. And here I had planned for Spot to sleep.

"It's still early," I countered. "You should get some more sleep."

"Nah. Gotta teach you to fight, right?" he replied, heading down to join the other boys in the washroom downstairs. I took the hint and went to my own room to get ready for the day. Someone had cleaned up the remains of the bath in the washroom and stripped the sheets from my bed, hanging them out on the line to dry. I touched the mattress, and finding it and the sheets dry, set about bringing them in and putting my bed back together. Spot came in as I was working. Without a word he helped me finish up.

"The boys left," he said as we finished.

"I heard," I grinned. They were pretty loud.

"Want to join them for some food before they go sell?" he asked, and I nodded. We can't afford to turn down free food, even if it is just some bread from the local aid society. We caught up with the boys-and the girls-and enjoyed some company as we munched the bread we had received. Then we returned to the lodging house, Jimmy trailing behind us, and headed onto the roof so I could learn a bit more about fighting.

"Okay, Cat. There's a few things you should know about fighting," Spot explained. "First off, if you can avoid fighting, do it. Talk it out, run away, try talking until you can run, whatever you can do. I don't want you fighting unless you absolutely have to."

"Well, that's obvious," I said, the corners of my mouth twitching. "Why would I want to fight?"

"Boys say that all the time, then try to fight because they want to prove something."

"I guess girls are smarter than boys," I fired back, and he grinned.

"Probably," he conceded, then turned back to the lesson. "The next thing to remember is that if you are forced to fight, there are no rules. Anyone who can't be talked down has it in for ya enough to want to hurt ya. It's okay to do whatever you can-including hurting them first-to make sure that doesn't happen. Anything goes. Any weapons, any techniques, any help you get-take it." His face was serious as he spoke, and I nodded slowly, my expression now equally serious. "That's why the slingshot is so good. You can do damage from a distance, so you can avoid getting close enough to get hurt."

We spent some time going over how to block or deflect kicks and punches, how to throw a punch, and a few other things. I noticed that balance was key, and he pointed out that there was a reason his newsies often played balance games on the docks. We played a few, and while I can be clumsy in a lot of ways, we found that my balance was actually pretty good. It felt like we'd been at this awhile, but it couldn't have been more than a half hour when Legs came up the fire escape.

"You're going to want to see this," he said to Spot, handing him a pape. His face was flushed as if he'd run from the distribution office. Spot scanned the headline and his face twisted. He took a few moments to read the article, then unleashed a muttered string of profanities like I had never heard.

"The boys all read it?" he asked Legs.

"Most of them," he replied. "They're all ready for word from you."

I could see Spot considering his options.

"No," he said finally. "I want them to sell aggressively. Have them get the public looking. Except Henry. He should-"

"He's already there," Legs said, and Spot nodded curtly.

"After morning papes I may want a few guys back here," he said, then waved his hand to dismiss Legs.

"Thanks, Boss," Legs said, disappearing over the ledge.

"Damn," Spot muttered to himself. He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture I had learned meant something was troubling him. After a few moments, I walked over to stand beside him and put my hand on his arm.

"What's wrong?" I asked. He seemed to consider a moment, then turned his head to look at me.

"The police couldn't find him. He's gone," Spot said.

"What-I mean, why-I thought," I started. I took a deep breath, organized my thoughts, and tried again. "How did he know they were coming for him?"

"That's what has me worried," Spot said, his eyes turning back to look out over the city. "The pape said he disappeared from work on Thursday afternoon and hasnt been back. That's the day we took Muriel to Manhattan. I think he knew when she disappeared on him that things were coming to a head. That means he probably knows you're here, and that makes me nervous."

"I'll be okay. I won't go with him again," I said, my hand still on his arm. He covered it with his other hand, turning fully towards me.

"He threatened Muriel," he said softly, and my eyes widened a bit. "She's pretty frightened, and from the sound of things, she's right to be. I don't like not knowing where he is and what he's up to."

Spot's words scared me. I hadnt known that about Muriel. Antonio had never seemed dangerous to me-he had intimidated me, to be sure, but he had never threatened me. If Spot was genuinely concerned, then there was a reason, and that thought alone set me to wondering if he would turn up here.

"Hey, it's okay," Spot reassured me, and I realized I was trembling. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. We'll figure this out," he said. He kissed my forehead, and I instantly felt better.

"So I guess we should keep practicing, huh?" I asked, and he chuckled.

"I guess so," he said, and we resumed our sparring and balance games. Somehow, though, I felt like a part of Spot's mind was elsewhere.


	72. Spot33--Solly

Oh, this was bad-and the day had started so wonderfully. As Katja and I went through some of the standard drills and techniques I usually used in my fighting lessons, I have to admit that my mind was a bit preoccupied. In hindsight, I admit, it was a bit of a shame to miss out on what could have been some fun, playful interactions, but at the time my thoughts of her safety-and Muriel's-were more important.

Where could a man like that-a man of modest means at best-go? What resources did he have, and how did he plan to use them? Somehow my instinct told me he hadn't left New York and likely wouldn't. He didn't have the means to go far or start over. But he would have to make good on his threat to Muriel-and his unspoken one to Katja-to silence them and resume his life. That was the part that terrified me, and it was the part I needed to address. I had a few thoughts, but none of them translated into a course of action yet as Katja and I headed back inside. She needed to take the dog out. I was fine with that as long as I was with her, but again I was too distracted to fully enjoy her company. My eyes roamed the streets as we walked, even though I knew we were not really going to be attacked in broad daylight. We walked up towards Downtown Brooklyn. As we reached a busier street, one of hte bootblacks waved me over.

"Spot," he called. I didn't know this boy by name, though his face was familiar.

"Yeah?" I asked, glancing at him briefly even as my eyes continued to scan the neighborhood.

"Solly Ryan's lookin' for you," he said, and I nodded curtly. Solly was one of the premier fighters in the Jackson Hollow Gang. I tried to keep the newsies out of the way of hte gangs when I could-I wanted more for my boys, and it's always a good idea not to run afoul of a gang-but I dealt with them somewhat regularly. I wouldn't say Solly and I were friends, but we were sparring partners. See, most of the guys can't quite match me in a fight, but Solly and I are pretty even. I'm still a touch quicker than he is, but he hits fractionally harder. On any given day he is probably the only person in New York who could beat me-though I think I he'd say the same about me. It's also a good way for me to keep up to speed on the goings-on of the gang activities. It helps to know what and where to avoid, what a rival gang is up to, and such. My information network is pretty good too, so it's a two-way exchange.

"Did he say where I could find him?" I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer.

"Fulton and Bedford," the bootblack answered. I sighed, then nodded my thanks to the kid. I had wanted to spend a quiet day off with Katja, but instead I was walking another two miles to find a gang member while keeping an eye on my surroundings. All the while Katja stayed quiet, her eyes downcast. Normally I'd be trying to draw her out, but today I was both preoccupied and grateful that her silence allowed me to concentrate. We were still a few blocks from our destination when I spotted Red on the rooftops above. He was following us. That allowed me to relax a bit-I had eyes up high.

We hadnt quite reached the intersection with Bedford when I spotted Solly coming out of a building. I whistled to him, and, recognizing the sound, he started towards me. I motioned up to the building for Red to come down. Katja, who had been startled by my sudden stop and whistle, looked at me curiously.

"Stay with Red for a moment while I talk to Solly," I said, and she whipped around, surprised to see Red walking up behind her.

"Where did he come from?" she asked.

"I'll let him tell you," I said cheekily before heading over to where Solly stood across the street.

"Spot," he said, offering me his hand. I shook it without spitting in mine-that's a newsie thing, not a street gang thing.

"Solly," I responded, my tone serious but relaxed.

"Saw today's paper. Thought you might want to hear what the word on this was," he said.

"Yeah?" I asked. If the gangs were involved, things just got a lot tougher.

"Word is this guy approached the Eastmen about getting to some girl in Manhattan. Said there may be another girl in Brooklyn, but the Eastmen turned down that one-didn't want to cross the bridge." He grinned at me, his expression easy to read. He was proud that the Brooklyn gangs had a big enough reputation that the feared Eastmen would respect their turf. "We haven't heard anything about a Brooklyn hit, but saw the story, talked to your boy who sold me the pape a bit, and figured there might be a connection."

A hit in Manhattan. Santorelli knew Muriel was in Manhattan. How did he- I suddenly remembered the unease I had felt as we crossed the bridge on Friday. He had followed us. I hadnt seen him, but my instincts had known he was there. He probably knew roughly where Muriel was. That meant trouble for the Manhattan boys. I turned back to the conversation at hand.

"That's the Brooklyn girl," I nodded to Katja. "She's my girl." My message was obvious. There was not to be a move on her.

"That guy really do what the papes say?" he asked.

"Yeah, he did. To the girl in Manhattan, too."

"Bet the Eastmen don't know that," Solly muttered. There may not be honor among thieves in most things, but abusing children is the exception. We both knew that the Eastmen wouldn't have taken a hit under these circumstances.

"I'll make sure they find out," I said, and he nodded. Newsies have the ability to move between gangs, so we often act as neutral messengers. Saves a lot of bloodshed on both sides. See, while the gangs of fifty years ago didn't care as much about those things, the modern gangs have figured out that unnecessary violence leads to arrests and cuts off revenue. They're much more savvy, even if they aren't any more moral, and the result is more peaceful for everyone.

"We'll keep our eyes peeled and keep watch on your girl," he said, and I nodded my thanks. With the largest and most powerful gang in Brooklyn on the job, I knew Katja would have a layer of safety that made her almost unassailable. Nobody would take the job, especially once I took the trouble of sending runners to the Rainmen and the Dump Gang as well. But the more immediate problem was getting word to Manhattan.

"Thanks, Solly," I said, shaking his hand again.

"She must really be something to make a respectable man out of you," he said, motioning with his head to where Katja and Red stood.

"She is," I responded, turning back to cross the street. Red looked at me as I approached. He was curious, but I could tell he also knew instructions would be forthcoming and that he should hold his tongue and listen. He wasn't wrong.

"Send runners to the Rainmen and Dump Gang. Let them know there was talk of a move on a girl. Let them know who it is and why they shouldn't accept the contract. Tell them the Jackson Hollow boys are against it." Red nodded, and I could see some confusion in Katja's face. "We're going to Manhattan."

"You want backup?" Red asked, and I shook my head.

"It'll take too long," I said. "Jack's boys will be enough."

"You taking Cat?" he asked, and I thought for a moment. I'd be faster without her, but until I knew this was over, I was loathe to let her out of my sight.

"Probably shouldn't," I said, and Red nodded.

"Do I get a choice?" her annoyed voice cut through our conversation.

"Sorry, Cat," I said. She was right to be annoyed. After all, it was her situation, and we'd been talking over her like she was a commodity.

"I'm staying with Spot," she said firmly to Red. Turning to me, she added, "I won't slow you down, and I'm safest with you."

Well, that was the most determined I'd ever seen her, and she did make some fair points.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go." I nodded in dismissal to Red, knowing full well he'd take care of spreading word to the Brooklyn gangs. Grabbing Katja's hand, I pulled her onto a passing cart, and we headed off to Manhattan.

**AN: Solly Ryan and the gangs mentioned were real. Don't know much about them, but their existence is real enough.


End file.
